Love Among the Gifted
by ProfessorPedant
Summary: Pride & Prejudice & Superpowers! In this England the gifted have ruled since the Norman's invaded. How will a series of unexpected attacks in Meryton shortly after the Assembly impact Elizabeth and Darcy? This is a different look at canon with the addition of powers, politics, adventure, and espionage. But the heart of our story is still the rough road to romance for ODC.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Forward –

One of the many questions a fanfic author must answer is how much of the original text should be used. Many decide to use none. Either creating an entirely new plot which varies so quickly from the original that there is no place for Austen's words, or they refer to the canon without actually displaying it. Others sprinkle the original text lightly throughout their own work, like a seasoning or a garnish.

I, like some others, chose in this story to use Austen's words quite liberally when I felt they expressed the actions or thoughts I wanted conveyed. In many cases, I saw no reason to change them if they moved the story in the direction I wanted it to go. As one might expect, this occurs less frequently as my story diverges from the original.

I offer this both as an acknowledgement that not all the words offered here are my own, though I put forth no effort to make any obvious demarcation of the original text where used, and as a caution for those that despise the inclusion of canon text.

Do not fear this is a simple retelling of the original, or complete usurpation. There are significant divergences from before the story begins through the ending. But some of the words you will find may be familiar to those knowledgeable of Austen's work. I hope this will not impinge upon your enjoyment of the story.

Chapter One

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

It was not matrimonial possibilities that had drawn Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, CM to the vicinity of the market town of Meryton in Hertfordshire. He had come to aid his friend Mr. Charles Bingley, in determining if the estate of Netherfield Park was an appropriate property upon which he might cut his teeth as a landed gentleman. But he was, as always, decidedly aware that on his first entering any neighborhood, the surrounding families would consider him as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. He was determined to be on his guard against such machinations and entanglements at all times.

"It's a fair prospect," Bingley enthused. The two gentlemen reined in their horses and took in the view of the large house on the wooded hill.

"Pretty enough, I grant you." Darcy admitted.

"Oh, it's nothing to Pemberley I know. But I must have an estate if I am ever to learn to manage one. Will this do, do you think?" Bingley was a confident young man, but was aware of the limitations of his experience and upbringing. He valued his older friend's advice on this and many other things.

"I cannot think you have spent much time in the somewhat limited society such a neighborhood as this may offer. Have you considered how you and your sisters may get along?" The gentleman from Derbyshire was more than familiar with country living. He considered himself a country squire at heart, despite the time he spent in the Metropolis.

"Country manners? I think they're charming."

Darcy smiled inwardly. His friend thought the whole world charming. "Then you'd better take it."

"Thank you, I shall." It was a fine early autumn day, and the temperate air and open fields tempted the friends to continue their most enjoyable ride. With a merry laugh, they raced to the house on the hill. As they rode, Darcy's keen eyes spotted a young lady watching them from a tall hilltop some ways in the distance. He was not able to take in many details before she was occluded by the trees, but he was favorably impressed with her lissome figure and fine eyes. Prudence, Darcy. Be always on your guard.

Bingley took possession of the estate the day before Michaelmas. At first it was just he and Darcy in residence. Having no lady in the party precluded them from any formal entertaining. But it did not stop the local gentlemen from making their calls to introduce themselves and welcome the newcomer to the county. Three of the visitors stood out in Darcy's recollection. The first was a local knight, Sir William Lucas, who Darcy suspected was newly risen to the ranks of the gentry. He had the air of a former military man and the style of a parvenu.

"I am delighted to welcome you to our humble society, Mr. Bingley. I trust you will find us convivial company."

"Thank you, Sir William. I am most anxious to become better acquainted with the neighborhood." Bingley replied warmly.

"Your timing could not be more fortuitous then," effused Sir William. "We are to hold a public assembly in a fortnight, on the 15th. You would delight the county were you to grace us with your presence. I can assure you that despite our seclusion, this neighborhood can boast some of the loveliest maidens in all of England. Not even the Court of St. James may offer blossoms to rival the Miss Bennets who are often referred to as the Flowers of Hertfordshire."

"Good gracious. I would be greatly saddened to miss such an opportunity to meet the good people of Meryton. If my guests are amenable, I shall certainly attend."

"Capital! Just capital."

The next man that drew Mr. Darcy's notice was Mr. Robinson, a tall, thin gentleman only a few years older than Darcy yet already nearly bald. Mr. Robinson entered the room with his pipe and pouch following behind him like a faithful hound.

"Um, Sir," Bingley pointed out the levitating objects to his guest.

"Dear me," Mr. Robinson said chagrinned. "I thought I had left these in the curricle. Ah well. Leave it to me to make a cake of myself on first meeting the new squire." He waved his hand and the offending items floated slowly into his waiting grasp. He tucked them into his pocket and turned to his host.

"I cannot tell you how glad I am to see this old haunt let at last. It's been more than two years since the Sturbridges vacated. And the old pinch penny has neglected to employ a good sheriff for the estate in all that time."

"Have there been particular issues?" Darcy inquired. He knew that this close to London there was always to possibility to problems boiling over from the City.

"No more than one might expect. This is a quiet area. But it's the principle of the thing. D'you know that Old Sturbridge actually has Miss Elizabeth Bennet acting as sheriff in his absence? It is all unofficial, but still. Though as her own father has her patrolling Longbourn, it might be expected that neither father nor daughter see anything wrong with it. But I tell you, a young lady putting herself in the way of poachers and ruffians and … and … who knows what. It's not right." He was pacing at this point, waving his arms in agitation. "And I want to know what you are planning to do about it!" His finger pointed most decidedly to Bingley.

"Miss Bennet?" Bingley repeated uncertainly.

"No, no. She's far too gentle to do anything of the sort. And a beauty par excellence! A true nonpareil. But Miss Elizabeth is something of a wild one. Always traipsing about the fields and lanes. I know she's the most gifted person in the county, but that is no reason for her to involve herself in what ought to be a gentleman's duty."

"I suppose I will either have to hire a sheriff or take over the magisterial duties myself. What say you Darcy? You helped me revise for my martial courses. Do you reckon I am up for the job?"

"I would be happy to assist you while I am here."

"My friend Darcy is a Crown Magistrate so I know he won't lead me astray."

The third memorable visitor was Mr. Bennet, FSA, the father of the daughters spoken of so highly by their neighbors. Mr. Bennet was a man of medium height, with greying hair. Darcy guessed his age to be near fifty and was surprised to realize he was a recognized scholar on the subject of antiquities. Darcy recalled having read at least two of his treatises. He presented an odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humor, and reserve.

". . . And if you ever care to while away the afternoon with a good game of chess, I have both the leisure and the board to offer you a contest. Until then, I bid you a good afternoon." The master of Longbourn kept his visit short. In Darcy's opinion, it was extraordinary that he never once mentioned his five unwed daughters to the two eligible gentlemen.

The following days were filled with pastoral pleasures; shooting, riding, and walking. Darcy took to the air on several occasions to explore the estate and its surrounding environs. He saw only one other flyer during this time, a royal messenger. Likewise, Bingley took time to speed around the borders of the estate and along all its lanes, discovering the best ways to reach all the tenants and other notable locations in case of need. Darcy found the cloud of dust kicked up behind his fleet-footed friend that made him so easy to track from the air most amusing.

"I think I must begin to return the calls from the local gentlemen." Bingley said as they finished their evening repast. "As I am sure you have no desire to accompany me on these visits, I was wondering if you wished to return to Town for a few days. I must go back on Friday to escort Caroline and the Hursts."

"That sounds like a reasonable plan. I do not mean to abandon you …" Bingley rolled his eyes. "But there are some business matters that would be significantly more convenient to address in person."

"Will you ride or fly?"

Darcy considered for a moment. It was judged somewhat unseemly to blatantly exhibit one's gifts among the ungifted without due cause. But London was, to a certain extent, the exception to this notion. As the number of gifted in the metropolis was staggering and the utility of some gifts too profound to disregard. Still those most frequently seen parading their gifts in public were the neck or nothing young bloods who were all agog to display to their own advantage. Darcy never wanted to be considered among such indecorous company. "I believe I will ride. I'll need my mount for the return journey in any case."

"Very well. I shall call upon Mr. Bennet tomorrow. Will you join me, or will you be on your way before then?"

"You offer me Scylla or Charybdis. I shall choose the vortex and begin my journey immediately after breakfast."

"Will not even the hope of gaining a glimpse of the Flowers of Hertfordshire tempt you to join me in this social foray?"

"I leave such horticultural delights to you," Darcy avowed. "I would caution you Charles. I know you are of a romantic disposition, but be guarded, lest you raise hopes, or worse, expectations in the daughters of the county."

"A man has to marry someday, my friend. With the right lady I would go willingly into the parson's mousetrap."

The next day Bingley returned Mr. Bennet's visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. The young gentleman had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father. An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day, and consequently unable to accept the honor of their invitation.

As Darcy made his way to his town house, he found the Old North Road too crowded with cart and carriage traffic to make for a comfortable ride. As he was in no hurry and it was a fine day, he decided to explore the lesser trafficked byways. Unfortunately, as he neared the outskirts of the metropolis, he was beset by a pair of highwaymen. One of the fellows appeared normal enough, though with a full-face mask one could not discern his countenance. He wore a soldier's waistcoat and breeches. The other was more noteworthy. He appeared to be shaped from roughhewn granite and wore homespun. He was as tall as his mounted comrade and almost as wide as the companion's cart-horse.

"Your money, or your life!" cried the presumed deserter. "Try to run and Crag'll tear yer limb from its socket and beat you bloody with it. Then he'll eat yer horse."

Darcy held up his empty hands, each palm facing a brigand. The grotesque started towards him while his partner held the gentleman under his gun. Before the man mountain could approach more closely, Darcy released a pulse of gravity from each hand, sending the two outlaws slamming into the trees behind them. A reversed pulse pulled the pistol from the hands of the stunned deserter. The grotesque had maintained his footing and started towards Darcy. Floating off his mount, the crown magistrate moved to meet the rocky scofflaw.

The concussion from their collision could be felt for a furlong and heard far further. Darcy was braced for the impact and smote the stone giant, driving him into the packed earth up to his knees. Seeing the fate of his companion, the deserter attempted to flee. A wave of Darcy's hand caused the gravity around the man the man to increase, drawing him inexorably to the ground where he continued struggling ineffectually to escape.

"I would say you may have chosen both your profession and your victim poorly," the gentleman chided. "But now what should I do with you?" He pondered the quandary for a brief time before deciding that he was justified in an overt display of his gifts as the quickest manner of transporting them to the local magistrate. While he had wide ranging jurisdiction as a crown magistrate, it was considered discourteous to conduct an investigation or make arrests on the properties of another magistrate without at least informing them and more commonly asking their permission.

He secured the horses and shackled the criminals, then flew up well above the trees. He used his enhanced vision to search for the nearest town or manor. Finding a large house not a mile hence, he returned to his prisoners. Binding the presumed deserter to his saddle and causing the grotesque to become weightless, he secured the man-mountain so that he floated like an observation balloon tethered behind Darcy as he rode to the nearby manor. Once he had made his report and turned his prisoners over to the local landowner, Darcy continued more directly to his home.


	2. Chapter 2

Elizabeth Bennet watched in a mixture of amusement and chagrin as her two youngest sisters endeavored to catch a glimpse through an upper window of their new neighbor as he visited their father.

"Can you see his face?' Kitty asked anxiously. She tried futilely to shoulder her younger sister out of the prime viewing spot.

Lydia effortlessly resisted her older, but smaller, sister's exertions. "I can't see his face, but have you ever seen such a fine blue coat?"

"I can't see anything, as you will not let me."

"And he rides a great black charger, like a knight in a story." Lydia sighed romantically.

"Let me see!"

"Too late." Lydia turned from the window, relinquishing her place to her fuming sister. "He's gone. I do wonder if Mother is correct and he will marry one of us. I should so like to marry before Jane or Lizzy. To be the first of us all to wed would be such a laugh."

Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcerted when Mr. Bingley was obliged to refuse the subsequent dinner invitation to return to London. She spoke of little else for several days. On one occasion Elizabeth was in company with her dearest friend, Charlotte Lucas. Their mothers were discussing the matter.

"What business could he have in town so soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire?" Mrs. Bennet quizzed. "I do hope he will not be always flitting about from one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he ought to be."

"You need not worry on that account, my dear Mrs. Bennet," Lady Lucas replied, "Mr. Bingley told my dear Sir William that he had to return to London to gather a large party for the assembly."

A report soon followed from another source that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a large number of ladies.

At breakfast on the morning of the assembly Elizabeth, as was her wont on most days, queried her sister about the news of the tenants. "Is there anyone I should make a particular effort to see on my rounds this morning, Jane? Mr. Quint mentioned that the Greens have a cow that might benefit from my attention."

Jane, who had adopted the responsibility for overseeing the welfare of Longbourn's tenants when she turned eighteen, considered her sisters inquiry. Mrs. Bennet had never been overly conscientious in her fulfilment of these duties as the mistress of the estate and the tenantry benefited greatly from the elder daughter's more assiduous attention. "Mrs. Stringfield has been feeling poorly these last two weeks. Mr. Jones is concerned that it may be more than a trifling cold. He says there have been reports of influenza in Belton and St. Albans. I wonder if you might be able to stop by and see her this morning."

"I'll be sure to visit." Elizabeth agreed.

"I'll have Cook prepare a basket for Mr. Stringfield. I'm sure that he is tired of eating at the Mare," said Jane.

"Ihere's no need for that today. You have to get ready for the assembly, Jane," Mrs. Bennet interrupted. "And you, Miss Lizzy … If you'd spend as much time working to get yourself a husband as you do traipsing about the countryside doing who knows what, then we might not have to fear being tossed out in to the hedgerows when your poor father dies."

"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts." Mr. Bennet added, peeking out from behind his paper. "Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor."

Before her parent's familiar dialog could delay her, she left the table to prepare for her second walk of the morning.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a habitual early riser and made it a habit to walk out almost every morning shortly after dawn. She would patrol the estate looking for any threats or disturbances. More than three years ago her father had unofficially ceded his magisterial duties to his second, and most gifted, daughter. As his _de facto_ sheriff, she fulfilled the responsibilities all landowners had of keeping the peace and enforcing the King's law on their estates.

When she had first started patrolling Longbourn she had carefully examined her father's maps of the estate and calculated a sequence of walking routes that would allow her to cover every part of the property on a three-day cycle.

That morning's route had taken her along the lane leading through Longbourn village and into the woodlands along the Meryton Road. It had been a peaceful morning, cool but sunny. She had enjoyed the quiet and solitude as she strolled along her chosen path.

It was in the little wilderness at the near the border with Netherfield that Elizabeth discovered the sign of a group of Strangefellows. She could detect the scent of fifteen gifted individuals. She sensed that almost half of the band were children. Her nose revealed more about the group, but she ignored the extraneous information. Though she recognized some of the scents, as she was outnumbered she decided on a cautious approach. Concentrating on her feline stealth, she moved silently though the heavy undergrowth, gently convincing the tangled brambles to part before her. She paused where she could hear the group in the distance. She chose a tall tree in the direction of the sounds and quickly clambered up the trunk like a squirrel.

From the top boughs she could see the smoke drifting lazily upwards from a cooking fire set in the center of three red-roofed gypsy wagons. She counted eight adults working in the encampment to prepare it for the day. They looked like they were intending to abide in the location for some days. Elizabeth could see they were the mixture of gifted and grotesque that could be found in most bands of Strangers. She saw a rock man, a plant woman, and an older dog lady among the more mundane members.

The daughter of the estate watched the interlopers for some time. She had to decide whether to confront them herself or to retreat and call for reinforcements of Sir William and the local bailiffs. She knew that if she confronted them alone and the confrontation should turn violent, her father would be most displeased that she had not sought assistance. Contrarywise if she brought in the Mayor and his bailiffs the chance for a peaceful resolution lessened dramatically.

Elizabeth held little of the common contempt for the social outcasts that were the Strangers. Many of them had started life as gentle folk just like her. But for a plethora of reasons they had either chosen to forgo the protections of polite society or were thrust from it. She had met a number of the travelling folk since beginning to patrol her father's estate. Most had proven to be peaceful, wanting nothing more than to be left alone; perhaps to barter their skills and services to the locals for the odd coin or bit of food.

Given the presence of Nana Hound, the old dog lady, and Florence, the plant woman, both whom she had met before, she expected that these Strangers were here for peaceful purposes and posed no threat to the neighborhood. Having made her determination, she gracefully leapt from the treetop to a tree just off the edge of the circle of wagons. She slid down and alighted gently on the leafy ground.

"Hello the camp?" she called.

"Hello, visitor. Come in peace." The gravelly voice of the old grotesque always sent shivers down Elizabeth's spine. It was not quite human and that difference was always disturbing. Elizabeth stepped more clearly into the circle of wagons.

The adults were arrayed in a rough ring with the young children hiding behind their parents, and the older ones perched on various wagons. Elizabeth looked them over for a moment then turned to Nana Hound. "Nana, you have returned to our part of the country. You have new companions, I see."

"Miss Bennet," the old hybrid dropped a sketchy curtsy. The other women and girls followed suit, and the men doffed their caps or knuckled their brows. "It is good to see you in fine health. My band was hoping that we might rest a few days here before moving west."

"Two or three days?" Elizabeth clarified.

"We were hoping it might be a little bit longer, perhaps as much as a se'nnight. We've been hard travelling for some time and our horses need rest and our wagons need mending." The old woman looked at Elizabeth with her soulful eyes set in her fur-covered face. A bonnet hid her pointed ears, though the young lady had seen them before.

"A week then. May I beg an introduction to your companions?" Elizabeth started sensing the natures of the estate's temporary guests, probing each as she was introduced to them. She found nothing too far amiss. They were not as well fed as she would like, and had the common cuts and contusions found in working children and adults throughout the land.

Elizabeth always found it interesting that the Strangers never used family names in their introductions. They were Florence and Nathaniel or Ruby and Rocky, all with no surname. Her father had told that when a surname was needed for official documentation all the wandering folk claimed some variation of Strange, Stranger, or Strangefellow as their name.

After several minutes of conversation, she was offered a cup of tea from the communal pot. She graciously refused, "I must be returning home. My mother will worry if I am not at there for our breakfast."

"I bid you a good morning, Miss Bennet. And you have our gratitude for your kind hospitality. May we attend services on Sunday?"

Elizabeth smiled and assured them that she would send the Reverend Mr. James to see to their needs. It was an unfortunate fact that a band of Strangers would cause fear and unrest in the tenantry, should they appear at Longbourn Church on the Sabbath. With a final playful grin at the youngest of the children, Elizabeth left the glade to return to her home and family.

After breaking her fast and discussing the tenant's needs, she returned to her rounds. She visited the Greens at their farm and found a cow getting ready to calve. Using her healing gift, she made certain that the calf was correctly situated, and the delivery progressed without incident.

She listened as the elder Mr. Green explained the events to his grandson, using the opportunity to teach important lessons to the future farmer. "…and best of all we know that naught will go wrong as long as Miss Elizabeth's here. She's a right blessing, she is."

After checking the health of the rest of the family and the available livestock, Elizabeth continued on to her next stop. On her way to the village, she noted that the Rowan's south field was wet with standing water. She realized the drainage had failed after the heavy rains of previous week. Elizabeth considered the problem and decided to ask Jane to examine the field along with Mr. Quint. He was the steward for the estate and would be able to determine the necessity of permanent repairs, while Jane's control of water would enable her to effect an expedient removal of the potentially damaging pool.

The Stringfields ran the small shop in the village that supplied the Longbourn tenants with simple necessities. They were an older couple that had been part of the small community for decades. Elizabeth found Mrs. Stringfield sick in her bed. It was obvious to her special senses that the woman was suffering from a severe case of grippe.

Elizabeth laid her hands on the woman's head and chest, pouring her power into her, reducing her fever and balancing her humours. They stayed in that attitude for several minutes. The older woman relaxed and Elizabeth wiped her brow with a cool, wet cloth.

"See if she will take a warm broth this evening. Send for Mr. Jones tomorrow. He should find her on the road to recovery."

"I can't thank you enough, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Stringfield said. "The Lord takes us all in his time, but I have to say I hope that her time is off yet a ways."

"Just be sure to take care of yourself as well," Elizabeth reminded him as she handed over the food from her basket. He accepted the provisions gratefully.

Soon thereafter Elizabeth decided it was time to return to Longbourn House. While she always enjoyed the public assemblies she attended with her family, she dreaded the preparations her mother always put her daughters through in hopes they would somehow manage to secure a husband. Given the scarcity of eligible gentlemen in the neighborhood, this was an unlikely endeavor.

Still with a new gentleman on the scene, and him bringing some unknown number of guests, some of whom might prove to be worth knowing, Elizabeth had to admit she was excited by the prospect of new society.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Darcy was having a very bad day. It began with a letter from his sister Georgiana, who was lodged, along with her new companion, at Pemberley. She was still melancholy from her ill-considered involvement with the scoundrel, George Wickham. While he loved his sister, and wanted nothing more than her happiness, the merest thought of his erstwhile childhood companion could cause his blood to boil. He could put the Ramsgate disaster out of his mind for days at a time. But any recollection was likely to put him in a foul mood.

The next aggravation came when the Bingleys and the Hursts arrived at Darcy House to commence the journey north to Netherfield. It had been decided that they would travel in company. Darcy had agreed that his carriage was more comfortable for Hurst and the ladies; but Bingley and he would ride alongside rather than joining the others in the coach. The servants would follow in the Bingleys' coach.

Ill-luck brought an end to this carefully laid plan. A stone thrown up by a passing cart had struck Darcy's horse, bruising his hock.

"I feel I must send him back to Darcy House with a groom." The gentleman from Derbyshire spoke quietly to Bingley.

"You'll ride in the coach with the others, then?" Bingley asked.

Darcy sighed. "It seems like the most appropriate solution. Any other would either delay us further, or open me to ridicule."

"I wasn't going to suggest you ride up top, old man." Bingley grinned. "Surely a few hours with Caroline cannot be that bad."

"I don't see you offering to give up your mount, so you may entertain the ladies on the road." Darcy sulked, but quietly so that the ladies might not overhear.

"I just got the fellow," Bingley spouted, patting his steed on his neck affectionately. "Still working to break him in. Changing riders could set that back months."

"I see. Well, we'd best get on with it." Darcy reached for the carriage door. A footman had already opened it. Miss Bingley gestured to the seat next to her. It was the only space available. Somehow the three passengers had spread out to occupy the space designed to suffice for six. Darcy nodded his silent thanks and settled in as best he could while keeping a decorous distance from his unmarried companion. Once settled he signaled to the coachman to continue their excursion.

"The roads today are in such awful condition are then not, Mr. Darcy. It is a wonder we can travel at all." Miss Bingley began. "I have heard a proposal that drayage should be restricted to lesser roads so that consequential traffic may progress more expediently, and in greater safety and comfort."

"That seems to beg the question of which classes of traffic is more important, and to whom." Darcy responded. "From whence rises consequence?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Miss Bingley asked. The Hursts seemed satisfied to let the younger lady carry the conversation.

"There are those that might argue that the efficient transportation of raw materials and finished goods contributes to the wellbeing of the nation more than does the reduced comfort of the leisure class."

"Shocking, Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley batted coquettishly at his sleeve with her fan. "Almost revolutionary. Will you be delighting us next with a chorus of _La Carmagnole_?"

"I think not."

"Can they honestly consider that the scurrying of the ragtag and bobtail is more important than the pursuits of the more refined classes?"

"Hmm…" Darcy decided against trying to draw Miss Bingley in to an in-depth discussion of moral philosophy. But she declined to be placated on the subject.

"Not a fortnight ago I heard Lady Jersey lament that the Ordinaries were encroaching further upon the prerequisites of the gentry; demanding the vote of all things. I thought such discussion most shocking, but there were many gentlemen of the Parliament in attendance, so it was perhaps not too surprising when the discussion took such a political turn."

"She's almost an Ordinary herself for all her harangues against the gifted," muttered Mr. Hurst, less quietly than he might have intended. Mrs. Hurst gripped his arm fiercely.

"By no means," Miss Bingley disagreed. "Lady Jersey, no, all of the Coterie are proud to be gifted. They make no proposals that nulls should be offered any sort of expanded influence. Her point is merely that among the elite, one need not further discriminate based on such a meaningless characteristic as the extent of one's gift. In the ancient era of the Conqueror, the ability to lay waste to armies of the mundane may have been worthy of approbation and advancement. But in our more modern and genteel world, it is one's breeding and accomplishments that are more pertinent, thus far better considerations for determining ones positon in society and the privileges that emanate from it."

"You speak of position and privileges," Darcy argued. "But what of responsibilities and duties? The Conqueror elucidated in the Great Charter of 1066 that the gifted were to be raised above the mundane not just because we were more powerful, but because ' _great responsibility follows inseparably from great power'_. We hold responsibilities to those beneath us, just as they owe duties to us."

"Just so," agreed Miss Bingley. 'Which is why they should remove themselves from our way when we travel."

Darcy glowered at her expression of preening self-satisfaction. Then recalling his previous resolution to avoiding such serious discourse with the other occupants of the conveyance, he rebuked himself and removed a book from his satchel and settled in to read. He still spied Mrs. Hurst give her sister a significant look and Miss Bingley's silent, exasperated response.

The trip to Netherfield, only twenty-five miles of good road, should have taken a mere four hours, including a short stop to rest the horses and refresh the passengers. Instead, between Mrs. Hurst's frequent indisposition and Miss Bingley's delicate constitution, they were obliged to suspend their expedition on four separate occasions. This put them almost two hours behind schedule. Several miles short of their destination, all traffic was brought to a standstill by a calamity that left two wagons overturned and numerous barrels and bales scattered across the road.

"Darcy, Louisa … I believe that these fellows might benefit from an expeditious application of your gifts." Bingley said.

"Surely you cannot expect Louisa and Mr. Darcy to involve themselves with these peasants, in manual labor. It's beneath them." Miss Bingley decried.

"Highly improper …" muttered Mr. Hurst in agreement.

"Really Charles," Mrs. Hurst protested and turned her back on the unpleasant business.

Darcy silently swung from the carriage and advanced to get a better perspective on the accident. He could see scores of men working with long poles tried to lever the wagons back on to their wheels. The mule teams had already been unhitched and brought into an adjacent field. The wounded carters had all been moved into the same field, all but one. An exhausted voice of the last, trapped carter could be heard moaning in pain from beneath the wreckage.

Pulling off his riding coat, Darcy handed it to Henry Coachman. "Everyone move back!" Darcy called, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the rabble. "Move back!"

The crowd parted, regarding the gentleman intruder with some trepidation. "Henry, Michael, clear a space for the wagons over there." Darcy pointed the coachman and groom to the field opposite where the mules and men were. "Giles, find out if a surgeon has been sent for. If not, find out where the nearest one is. I may have to transport the injured man myself." Darcy ordered the footman on the back of the carriage. His staff moved to perform their duties. Bingley and the ladies watched in captivation as Darcy took charge of the situation.

Once the throng had made room, Darcy approached the two wagons. He knew he had to work carefully. If he shifted their weight, he risked crushing the injured man on the ground. Laying one hand on each cart he reversed the pull of the Earth on the conveyances and hoisted them into the air. Holding them at arm's length, he carefully strode to the side of the highway. Once he was sure the area was clear of people, he set the two wagons onto their broken wheels. He pulled over some wooden crates and placed them under the axels to prop up the carts.

Giles was examining the young man, no more than a boy really, who had been caught under the carts. Darcy looked questioningly to his footman who smiled reassuringly. "He's gonna be fine, sir. Got a broken arm, and some nasty bruises and scrapes. But he'll mend with care. The local apothecary is on his way."

"Very good. Let's get him out of the road." Darcy gestured, and the boy floated over to stretch out next to the other injured men. "Now get this road cleared. Everyone grab a barrel or bale and move them next to the wagons."

At first people just watched as Darcy levitated the goods from the road. But when his servants and Mr. Bingley started helping, others realized that the faster the road was clear, the sooner they could be on their way. In Darcy's carriage, Miss Bingley offered a running commentary on the progress to the Hursts. Some minutes later, travel had recommenced in both directions. Darcy brushed himself off as well as he could before re-entering the coach.

"My apologies," he offered to the denizens, his voice not fully concealing his frustration with their inaction. "Just one of those responsibilities of which we were so recently speaking."

It was another hour before they arrived at Netherfield. Ever since they had left the main road and traveled through the local market towns, Miss Bingley and her sister had been looking at the scenery outside the coach windows as if they were traveling to India and gazing upon the exotic palace of a maharajah for the first time.

They commented on the outmoded styles and general brutishness of the local populous and the antiquated and dilapidated architecture of the passing buildings. In short, they were displeased with everyone and everything they saw.

Mr. Darcy shook his head internally. He could not help but know that Miss Bingley had expectations of him, albeit unreciprocated ones. She wish above anything to be the Mistress of Pemberley. Yet every time they were in company in the country, he could see the contempt in which she held all things bucolic. He often wondered to himself if she even realized that he was a country gentleman at heart, and Pemberley was a country estate. Should she ever achieve her desire, she would likely either find herself miserable at Pemberley surrounded by the country life she detested, or she would build a life separate from him in Town. Of the two possible fates, he knew which he would choose, as her misery was not worth his own.

Upon their arrival at Netherfield, Bingley discovered that the housekeeper had misread his missive informing her of the date of their return and had not expected them for three days yet. In short their rooms were not ready and the larder was near empty. Bingley rightfully took the blame on himself.

"Oh, no wonder." cried Miss Bingley, "Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest. Nonetheless, this will not do. Send to town for food and prepare our chambers immediately. My abigail will be here shortly. As will Mr. Darcy and Charles' men. We will need rooms to prepare ourselves for tonight's assembly. And I will not be seen looking less than my best in front of _these_ people!"

"Surely with all this confusion, it would be better to forgo the ball and just use the evening to settle in and recover from what must have been a most harrowing journey for you ladies?"

"Come Darcy!" Bingley cried. "We shall make do and attend the ball. For there is nothing I like better than a country dance."

So it was that after their servants and clothing arrived, the Netherfield party adorned and bedecked themselves then set off into the blustery evening to attend an assembly when only one of the party truly wanted to go.

As bad as the day had been, Darcy was afraid the evening would be worse.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: As this chapter is mostly taken from the original text [as I feel this scene in canon is hard to improve upon], I have posted two chapters this morning, with the second offering more original content.

Chapter Four

The Bennets, absent their father, had arrived at the assembly room rather early in the festivities. The first set was not expected for a quarter hour or more. Upon their arrival, the Longbourn party separated, with each of the Bennet ladies moving to meet their friends or to pursue their desires. Elizabeth and Jane approached their longtime friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, the eldest child of Sir William and Lady Lucas. Sir William, as the _de facto_ host, was always first to these assemblies so the ladies from Longbourn knew to expect her presence on their arrival.

"Charlotte! You look lovely. That is a very fine dress." Elizabeth said smiling at her older friend.

"Mother felt it necessary to make the effort as there are rumored to be new gentlemen here tonight, and this may be my last opportunity to fix a gentleman's interest." Miss Lucas spoke softly and with a self-effacing tone. "Though with you and Jane here, I doubt any other lady will have a chance."

"Please Charlotte," Jane blushed. Elizabeth smiled at her sister's modesty. She truly had no conception of her beauty and the effect it had on men. Even now Elizabeth could see the wake of dumbstruck men in the hall. And most of these were men that had known Jane all her life. To protect her own maidenly sensibilities, Elizabeth tried to ignore the awareness of the men's visceral reactions, passed to her by her enhanced senses.

"Have you heard any more reports of our new neighbor and his expected party?" Elizabeth asked.

"The latest I've heard is that instead of twelve, he has brought only six with him from London—his five sisters and a cousin."

"Still too many ladies," Jane replied while enjoying her sister's shocked expression at Jane's stealing her earlier quip. This brought laughter to all three.

It was near the end of the second set that the party from Netherfield finally arrived. Most of the local ladies were pleased to see that when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether—Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth saw that Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike. He had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman. The lady from Longbourn watched with some amusement as Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room.

As popular as Mr. Bingley was making himself, it was his friend Mr. Darcy who soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year and a peerless gift.

The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, until his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity.

"Mr. Darcy, may I introduce to you Mrs. Bennet and her lovely daughters." Sir William offered cheerfully. The gentleman from Derbyshire bowed silently and walked away. This behavior was repeated throughout the evening as he declined being introduced to any lady.

"He is the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world …" Elizabeth heard Mrs. Bennet complaining to Mrs. Long. "… above his company, and above being pleased …" A quick glance showed that Mr. Darcy may well have heard the insults as well.

"Nothing at all to Mr. Bingley," was the less than discrete response.

"Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves." Elizabeth observed to Charlotte as they watched Mr. Bingley partner Jane in the dance. "What a contrast between him and his friend!"

After the set, she saw Jane being introduced to Mr. Bingley's sisters. They appeared to be welcoming to her, but Elizabeth did not trust the look in their eyes. "More pleased with themselves than those around them…" she thought.

Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley and spent the rest of the evening walking about the room and speaking occasionally to one of his own party. Elizabeth had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.

"Come, Darcy," said he. "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You'd much better dance."

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom!" cried Mr. Bingley. "Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr. Darcy, looking at Jane.

"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is also very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?" And turning around he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, until catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said to Mr. Bingley, "She is tolerable, I suppose. But not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you're wasting your time with me."

Mr. Bingley followed his friend's advice. After which, Mr. Darcy walked off. And Elizabeth remained with no very cordial feelings toward the unpleasant man.

She sought out Charlotte and shared the story, laughing at the curmudgeon in their midst.

"Perhaps he finds the female sex repellant?" Elizabeth suggested. "He may be one of those gentleman that would prefer to race his phaeton through the park, or spend the night gambling at his club, than dance with a lady."

"Lower your voice, Lizzy," Charlotte cautioned. "It would not do for him to hear you speaking thusly."

Elizabeth just laughed gayly.

The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs. Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could be, though in a quieter way.

Elizabeth felt Jane's pleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighborhood; and Kitty and Lydia had been fortunate enough never to be without partners, which was all that they had yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn.

They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a book he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the events of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife's views on Mr. Bingley would be disappointed; but he soon found out that he had a different story to hear.

"Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet!" she called as she entered the room. "We've had a most delightful evening and a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked. And Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful and danced with her twice! Only think of that, my dear; he actually danced with her twice! And she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her! But, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know. And he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So, he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the _Boulanger_ …"

"If he had had any compassion for _me_ ," cried her husband impatiently, "he would not have danced half so much! For God's sake, say no more of his partners. Oh, that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!"

"Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs. Hurst's gown …"

Here she was interrupted again. "No lace!" Mr. Bennet protested. "I beg of you, no lace."

She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.

"But I can assure you," she added, "that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting _his_ fancy. For he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man."

When Jane and Elizabeth were alone in their room that night, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very much she admired him.

"He is just what a young man ought to be," said Jane, "sensible, good-humored, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! So much ease, with such perfect good breeding!"

"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "and gifted, which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete."

"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment."

"Did you not? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person."

"Lizzy!"

"Oh! You are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. All in the world are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in your life."

"I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak what I think."

"I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! Affectation of candor is common enough -one meets with it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design; to take the good of everybody's character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad; that belongs to you alone. And you like this man's sisters, too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his."

"Certainly not at first. But they are very pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep his house. And I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbor in her."

Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced. Their behavior at the assembly had not been calculated to please in general. With more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than Jane, and with a judgement not prejudiced by their attention to herself, Elizabeth was very little disposed to approve them.


	5. Chapter 5

"Was this the sort of … entertainment that drew you from the metropolis to this backwater, dear brother?" Miss Bingley asked archly as the Netherfield party took a late-night tea in the parlor. The two sisters had settled into one comfortable sofa while Mr. Hurst had fallen asleep on its twin. Bingley sat on a matching chair and Darcy loomed over the room, standing vigil by the roaring fire.

"I never met with pleasanter people or prettier girls in my life," Bingley enthused.

"You astonish me," Darcy said. "All I saw was a collection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion."

"But what did you think of the purported local beauties, the Misses Bennet?" Mrs. Hurst needled.

"The eldest Miss Bennet is indeed, very pretty," Darcy allowed.

"Come, come, Darcy. The lady is a goddess," Bingley enthused. "A diamond of the first water. A true nonpareil!"

"She," Darcy paused. Miss Bingley straightened almost imperceptibly. "… smiles too much. A grave fault, I know. But there it is."

"Miss Bennet is sweet girl," Miss Bingley averred, "and one whom I should not object to know more of. But her family…"

Even Bingley offered slight grimace of distaste. Darcy thought the mother vulgar, but not too far out of the ordinary either from the matchmakers of the ton, or the farm wives of his estate. He had no desire to be in company with her, but was not certain that his present company, Bingley excluded, was really to be lauded in contrast. As for the rest of the family he had not noticed them among the crowd, none of whom had held the smallest interest for him.

"I had heard Miss Eliza Bennet is claimed as the most gifted lady in the county. The rumor has her as a match for your own peerless prowess. What say you to that, Mr. Darcy?"

"I would as soon call her mother a wit."

Bingley got up, offering his friend a frown, and announced to the room, "I think I have had enough polite conversation for the evening and shall retire. I bid you all a good night."

Darcy returned the good wishes and watched him go. _Perhaps that_ was _too far,_ Darcy mused. _I must beware of letting myself fall into the wrong company. It brings out the ungracious in me._

Two days later Darcy was up with the dawn. He sent a footman to rouse Bingley, and remind him they were to ride that morning. He met his host a quarter hour later and they proceeded to the stables where their horses had been prepared. Darcy had a map of the estate and held it open for Bingley to see. "One of the first things you will need to do is have an accurate map of all the important points, farms, and features created. This one is from Mr. Morris, but we have no idea if it is current or exact."

"You propose we ride out and see for ourselves?"

"You enjoy a brisk morning ride. As Master you should use every opportunity to survey your domain with frequency and regularity. Morning rides make convenient occasions for just such regular inspections. With that in mind, where shall we ride this morning?"

"The choice is mine?"

"It is your estate."

Bingley examined the map. After a moment's consideration he suggested, "I should like to see these farms this morning, I think. We should be nearing time to plant winter wheat? Going out to observe how that work is progressing seems worthwhile."

"Very well," Darcy agreed, and they rode on. "One thing to always consider. As the landholder, even on a leased estate, but most particularly when you are the land owner, you are the magistrate and must enforce the laws and keep the peace on your lands. In this instance it is important because you may want to develop the habit of patrolling the wilderness portions of your property as regularly as the cultivated lands. Poachers, vagrants, and other miscreants are often to be found among the forests and dells rather than the roads and fields."

"How often does that happen really though? We are but twenty odd miles from London, not the wilds of deepest Africa."

"Remember the Bourbons. They were not murdered in their homes by the Zulus, but by their own discontented populous. Between the Ordinaries, the Strangers, the Luddites, and other radicals and revolutionaries your greatest dangers may not be from thieves and poachers, but from those that attack you for your place in the social hierarchy. That is why the landed gentry are offered the privileges we are, because we have to employ our gifts to defend the very structures of our society from threats both foreign and domestic."

"You feel strongly about his." Bingley observed.

"I have seen far too many of our class that do not take their responsibilities seriously."

"I shall endeavor not to be among that select company. Of course, I do have an advantage." Bingley's smile widened as he nimbly leapt from his saddle to land on his feet. He began sprinting in the direction they were riding, rapidly outpacing the horses. His steed had started, but continued to trot beside Darcy's mount. The stepper was well trained and familiar with his rider's occasional extravagant displays.

Bingley was quickly lost to Darcy's sight as he ran ahead. A short while later he came zooming up behind his friend, having circumnavigated the section, Darcy assumed, and leapt back into the saddle. "Nothing to see in those woods."

"I had not expected there would be." Darcy smiled at the antics of his companion. "You do indeed have an advantage over most magistrates. Your speed is amazing, and quite useful. You can patrol your entire estate in a matter of minutes. You can perform a daily inspection. As long as you keep the habit it will not take too much of your time. Just be prepared to find things amiss on occasion. And do try to avoid making too much of a spectacle out of yourself in front of your neighbors." The last admonition was given with a genial smile.

As the two rode on, they continued to discuss the day-to-day management of an agricultural estate. Darcy had helped his friend prepare to take up the responsibilities of land ownership. His lease of Netherfield was the final examination for this curriculum. Whether he determined that the actual estate was ideal for his long-term needs, or not, Bingley would decide over time. If it was, then he would complete the purchase. If not, he would search elsewhere, having gained much needed experience.

Before long they arrived at what the map had identified as Seven Oaks Farm. Darcy had ridden by it during their initial tour of the property. It was a well-established farm with 80 acres of fertile land planted in rotation. A flock of sheep could be seen in a field away from the sturdy two story house. A young girl saw them approach and ran to the large barn behind the house. As they dismounted, a short stocky man in farmer's attire walked out of the barn to meet them. He doffed his hat when he recognized the new master of the estate.

"Mr. Bingley, I bid you good morning. 'Tis very kind of you to come in our hour of need, but Miss Elizabeth has lil' Danny fixed up almost right as rain." Mr. Stover explained, causing more confusion in his listeners that he dispelled.

"Good morning to you too," Bingley replied, offering his hand. "What is this about Danny and Miss Elizabeth?"

"You didn't know?" The farmer replied. "I swear that woman is a saint sent down from heaven."

"I would not go that far, by any means, Mr. Stover," Miss Elizabeth Bennet demurred modestly as she too came out of the barn. "Perhaps my sister Jane may lay claim to beatification one day, but never me." She offered a polite curtsey to the two gentlemen. They offered equally polite bows in return, though Darcy's was perhaps a trifle more stiff than Bingley's. This reticence was due to disbelief rather than disapprobation.

The dour Derbyshireman was astounded to see this young lady, not only up and about at this early hour, but obviously assisting her neighbor's neglected tenants in some fashion. He looked upon her and realized that, despite his disparagement of her appearance at the assembly, he found her countenance not wholly without appeal. She had a healthful bloom to her cheeks that was pleasing.

"It is most peasant to meet with you this morning, ma'am," Bingley stated cheerfully. "But may I ask, what brings you to Netherfield?"

"Young Daniel had damaged himself sporting in the hayloft. Mrs. Stover sent word for me, as I have taken to offering some care to the tenants of Netherfield since the Sturbridges removed to Brighton. I am certain that she meant no offence to you as the new master."

"None taken I assure you."

"I had heard that you have been acting as sheriff for the estate." Darcy said.

"Only in a very unofficial capacity," Miss Elizabeth replied. "It has not been a bother to extend my normal patrols. And as our two properties adjoin, leaving a danger unanswered on Netherfield would pose a risk to Longbourn. Thus, it has been both neighborly and prudent."

"You are quite the intrepid," Bingley said admiringly.

"Nothing of the sort, I assure you," she protested. "This is neither the wilds of Patagonia nor the battlefields of the Peninsula. Hertfordshire is normally quite tranquil. I spend significantly more time seeing to the medical needs of the tenants than to subduing insurrectionaries or discouraging poachers."

"You are a healer too, then?" Darcy asked.

"I have some abilities in that sphere, though I lack formal training. I simply offer the locals what assistance I may." Miss Elizabeth checked a small watch she wore pinned to her pelisse. "I'm afraid I must be back to Longbourn, lest my mother be concerned that I am not at breakfast. I bid you both a good day." She offered another slight curtsey and turned to stroll towards the fields in the direction of her home.

"It must be nearly three miles to Longbourn, if I recall," Bingley said, looking at Mr. Stover for confirmation.

"About that, I reckon."

"And she walked all this way? And now intends to return on foot?" Darcy wondered.

"Oh, that don't bother her none. She beat my Henry here and he was mounted on my best stepper. Come see what she done for lil' Danny." He quickly led the two gentlemen into the barn. Darcy saw it was well ordered and maintained. This Stover ran a fine farm. If he paid his rents on time and did not imbibe or gamble too much, he was just the sort of tenant that Bingley needed to keep in place to make his estate a success.

"Da! Look at this!" A young boy took several awkward steps towards them; the young girl who had given the alarm earlier offering him a supporting shoulder. Mr. Stover lumbered to him and swept him up in his arms. He ran his hand carefully over the boy's left leg. It had been uncovered and looked bruised, though the color seemed to be fading rather than blooming.

"He fell from up there," Stover pointed to the hay loft some yards above. "His leg was busted to flinders."

"The bone was sticking out in three places!" the little girl added. Darcy blanched, knowing that was a crippling injury, even with the best medical care.

"But Miss Eliz'beth made it all better," stated little Daniel.

"She's a saint, no matter what she says. A saint." Mr. Stover insisted. The gentlemen chose not to argue.


	6. Chapter 6

Darcy's next two weeks were taken up with a combination of estate business, to assist Bingley in adapting to his new role; and social obligations, to help secure Bingley's place in the new neighborhood. The gentleman from Derbyshire was rather more interested in the former undertakings than the latter, but understood how essential it was for Bingley's long-term success and happiness to make a good name for himself in his new society.

Miss Bingley could not seem to understand that the consequence and polish of the individuals involved was of little matter; a country gentleman had to flourish within the local social order for the enduring well-being of the estate. Recluses and outcasts did not prosper in the close confines of country living.

This meant that Bingley and his guests either collectively, or in small groups, were obliged to attend any number of luncheons, teas, soirees, and other festivities. Several times Darcy and Bingley were brought into company with the residents of Longbourn, as the Bennets were considered one of the first families of the neighborhood. On the fourth or fifth such occasion, an evening party at Lucas Lodge, Darcy began to admit that his defenses against the entirety of the feminine gender were beginning to be breached by the increasingly intriguing Miss Elizabeth.

At first Darcy had scarcely allowed her to be pretty. He had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticize. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing. And in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness with both friends and acquaintances. The obvious care with which she fulfilled not only her own duties to her dependents, but many of those related responsibilities belonging to her both father and mother, could only lead him to admire her integrity and rectitude.

He began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing with her himself, attended to her conversations with others. His doing so drew her notice.

"What does Mr. Darcy mean," said she to Charlotte, "by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?"

"That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer."

"But if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him."

On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such a subject to him, which immediately provoked Miss Elizabeth to do it. She turned to Darcy and said, "Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?"

"With great energy. But it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic."

"You are severe on us."

"It will be her turn soon to be teased," said Miss Lucas. "I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."

"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! Always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable, but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers." On Miss Lucas's persevering, however, she added, "Very well; if it must be, it must be."

Gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, "This puts me in mind of a fine old saying, with which everybody here is of course familiar - 'Keep your breath to cool your porridge, and I shall keep mine to swell my song."

Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary.

The middle Bennet sister, Darcy observed, was easily the most accomplished of the family on the instrument. She had both a precision of technique and a depth of expression with which she infused her performance. In appearance, she was the least attractive of her sisters, but Darcy had heard her expound on topics both political and philosophical at some of the gatherings at which they had been in company. He had been ready to dismiss her as a bluestocking, before he heard her in discussion with Sir William later that evening.

"… can you honestly say that your possession of a gift makes you more suited to managing an estate or offering your voice in the determination of our nation's policies and laws than was you father, estimable man that he is said to have been? I did not have the honor of making his acquaintance, but all that I have heard of him proclaims him a most thoughtful and discerning man. Why should he not have had the same rights as you now enjoy, based solely on happenstance?"

Darcy was surprised to hear such radical ideas coming from a country miss. He had noticed the book she was carrying was the third of Wollstonecraft's Vindications series - Vindication of the Rights of the Non-gifted. Mary Wollstonecraft, like Lord Byron and Lady Caroline Lamb, was a proponent of the Ordinary movement that agitated for a return to the original jurisdiction of the non-gifted as seen before the Great Charter of 1066. The gentleman rather thought this political allegiance might give some credence to the rumor that Miss Bingley had brought to his attention, that the middle Miss Bennet was born a null, without even a paltry gift. If this were the case, he could feel nothing but pity for her situation.

"Well …," Sir William stammered at a loss. "That is to say … I … He ..." Casting around the room in desperation for a polite excuse to end the uncomfortable debate, the knight encountered Darcy. "Miss Mary, I am afraid we will have to continue this at another time. I must speak with Mr. Darcy at this very moment. It cannot be delayed. Perhaps I can persuade you to play for us once again. I believe the younger set wishes to dance now, and you are by far the best able to provide the inspiration for such activity."

Miss Mary glared at Darcy with stormy eyes, then agreed to Sir William's entreaty. This lead to several couples taking to the floor, including Bingley and the elder Miss Bennet. After several minutes of strained discourse on the iniquities of the exercise, Sir William took it upon himself to importune Darcy to partner with Miss Elizabeth.

"My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you." And taking her hand, Sir William would have given it to Darcy, who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it.

Miss Elizabeth instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William, "Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner."

Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honor of her hand; but in vain. Miss Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at all shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.

"You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour."

"Mr. Darcy is all politeness," said Miss Elizabeth, smiling.

"He is indeed—but considering the inducement, we cannot wonder at his complaisance. For who would object to such a partner?"

Miss Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away.

Her resistance had not injured her with the gentleman from Pemberley, and he was thinking of her with some complacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley.

"I can guess the subject of your reverie."

"I should imagine not."

"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society. And indeed, I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people. What would I give to hear your strictures on them!"

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. Darcy replied with great intrepidity,

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Miss Bingley. "I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favorite? Pray when am I to wish you joy?"

"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy."

"Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you."

He listened to her with perfect indifference, while she chose to entertain herself in this manner, and as his composure convinced her that all was safe, her wit flowed long.


	7. Chapter 7

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton. This proved a most convenient distance for the young ladies of the family, who were often tempted thither three or four times a week. They would pay their duty to their aunt, and to a milliner's shop just down the street from her house. The two youngest of the family, Kitty and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions. A walk to Meryton was indispensable to add amusement to their morning hours and furnish conversation for the evening. However bare of news the country in general might be, they always contrived to learn some novel _on dits_ from their aunt.

At present the girls were well supplied with both news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in the neighborhood. They were to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was their headquarters. Colonel Forster, an older gentleman from Derbyshire, was the commander. His age and recent marriage rendered him of little interest to the younger Miss Bennets, but the dozen or so single young officers also with the regiment were more than enough to whet their appetite for any morsel of intelligence on the topic.

Elizabeth was more sanguine about the presence of such a collection of potential beaux, as she was more aware of the pecuniary situation of most militia officers. While they were, by law, gentlemen. Most were the poor relations of modest landholders. They subsisted on their own money, as they made none from the militia. A marriage to one could well spell a fall even from the low altitude of their current financial position. Those with the ambition or gifts to make a mark in the world found their way into either the regular army or the Royal Navy. Sir William was a prime example of how that path could take even a gentleman of the first generation, the polite manner of refereeing to a wilder, into some level of prominence. Sir William was knighted for the same valiant action that caused him to be invalided out of the army.

This caution did not stop Elizabeth from accompanying her sisters on their almost daily pilgrimages to the Phillips' house. Their visits were now productive of the most interesting reports. Every day added something to their knowledge of the officers' names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret, and at length the Bennets began to know the officers themselves.

Mr. Philips visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity heretofore unknown. The younger sisters could talk of nothing but officers. Even Mr. Bingley's large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their mother, was worthless in the younger girls' eyes when compared to the regimentals of an ensign.

After listening one morning to Kitty and Lydia's effusions on this subject, Mr. Bennet coolly observed, "From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced."

Kitty was disconcerted, and made no answer. But Lydia, with perfect indifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and her hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going to London the next morning.

"My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well. Indeed, I do so still in my heart. And if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls, I shall not say nay to him."

Mr. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a note for Jane. It came from Netherfield, and the servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerly calling out, while her daughter read,

"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us. Make haste, my love."

"It's from Miss Bingley," said Jane, and then read it aloud.

 _My dear Friend,_

 _If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers._

 _Yours ever,_

 _Caroline Bingley._

"With the officers!" cried Lydia. "I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that."

"Dining out," said Mrs. Bennet, "that is very unlucky."

"Can I have the carriage?" said Jane.

"No, my dear, the horses were engaged on the farm," said her father.

"Then I had better go on old Daisy."

"She's certainly useless on the farm," agreed Mr. Bennet. "Be aware it seems likely to rain."

"That is no bother. I will stay dry."

"Knowing your gift with water, my dear, I was not concerned about you," her father said seriously. "I was worried for old Daisy."

Mrs. Bennet attended Jane to the door with many cheerful prognostics of the day. She was full of suggestions for her daughter as to how she might parley the invitation into an entire evening or longer, assuring that she would be in company with Mr. Bingley and not just his sisters. Her hopes were answered, though not in a manner any might have anticipated or, indeed, desired.

Jane had not been gone long before a servant from Netherfield brought pressing word. Jane had been attacked and was in dire straits at Netherfield. Miss Elizabeth was most urgently required lest her sister not survive the night.

Whilst her mother swooned, and her sisters were caught up in hysterics, Elizabeth looked to her father. He said but one word – "GO!" She raced to her room for her special pelisse. She donned it and leapt from her first-floor window. When she hit the ground, she closed her eyes and felt with her gift inside her body. She started to sprout wings from her back. Black feathers slid through the special slits in her pelisse, one that Kitty had spent hours redesigning and reshaping using her textile control gift.

Elizabeth's ability was to sense and manipulate the very essence of living things, including herself. She most commonly used this for healing. But by constant and permanent manipulation of her own body, she had duplicated the natures the animals around her. She ran with the speed of the horse, stalked with the stealth and senses of the cat, climbed like a squirrel, and leapt like a frog. She had the strength of the ox and the agility of the hart. With proper preparation she could even adapt herself to swim underwater like a fish or to soar through the air like a bird. She made an effort to visit zoos and menageries whenever possible to expose herself to different animals so that she might adopt what was most useful from their natures.

A moment after she had started her transformation, raven-pinioned wings lifted her into the air and propelled her towards her sister's desperate need.

She arrived to find Netherfield in an uproar. Footmen in oilskins were moving about in the falling rain with, lanterns in one hand and cudgels or hunting pieces in the other. Mr. Weaver, the butler, was leading them in what appeared to be a disorganized defense of the house. Several gun barrels were pointed at her has she came in for a landing in front of the portico. Most of the household, local lads who had known of her most of her life, recognized her when she landed. The few that did not, were quickly informed of her identity and she sensed a relaxing of the tension in many of the men.

Mrs. Weaver, the housekeeper, met Elizabeth at the door. "She's up this way, Miss," said the older woman. Miss Bingley rushed into the entrance hall upon hearing the front door's opening, followed by her sister not a moment behind. They stopped and stared in shock when they saw Elizabeth.

"What are you doing here?" Miss Bingley demanded. Her voice was fraught with fear. Elizabeth could sense her emotional turmoil reflected in her racing heartbeat and other vitals.

Before the visitor could answer, the door again burst open admitting Messrs. Bingley and Darcy. With them was a man in uniform that none of the ladies recognized.

"Caroline, where is Miss Bennet?" Mr. Bingley demanded first thing.

"Charles! Mr. Darcy. We are attacked. It is the French! We must flee!" His sister cried, ignoring his question.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Darcy interjected. "What are you doing here? How did you get here? It is not safe on the roads."

"Will someone please take me to my sister," Elizabeth demanded, speaking mostly to Mrs. Weaver. The older housekeeper took her hand and led her up the stairs. Elizabeth could see the blood trail on the steps, and the scent of her sister's essence left her almost frantic.

They came to a door in the upper hallway. Two maids and a footman were standing in agitation outside the portal.

"She's in here Miss, and she's hurt something terrible." The normally phlegmatic housekeeper said, tears leaking down her cheek. But just as Elizabeth reached for the door, it opened revealing Mr. Jones, the local apothecary.

"Miss Elizabeth. Thank God. I was about to send for you. Your sister has been shot, and worse. It seems as if she was struck by lightning or somehow else electrified." The man said quickly.

She and the apothecary did not get on too well, as he considered her an interfering amateur that unfairly competed with his practice in the villages and farms surrounding Longbourn. But he had been known to request her assistance in severe cases that were beyond his abilities and where the threat to life was imminent. Elizabeth was dismayed to discover that he considered her sister such a desperate case.

She pushed past him and sped to her sister's side. Jane had been lain out on the bed. Her dress was dark with blood and burned black on her side. Elizabeth reached out with her senses, feeling for the waning life essence in her sister's shattered body. Finding a flickering ember, she laid hands on her precious sibling, and with every iota of her power and skill she began to fan the flame. After several minutes' intense effort of manipulating the humors in the ravaged flesh, she was finally satisfied that that she had stabilized her sister's condition, halting her inexorable decline. She was by no means healed, just no longer rushing towards death.

Elizabeth removed her hands and almost collapsed in a chair that had been strategically placed beside the bed. A tumbler of water was thrust into her hands and she accepted it gratefully. She looked up in the dark, penetrating eyes of Mr. Darcy. If she had the energy she might have started at his presence, much less his proximity.

"Please drink," the gentleman urged.

"I thank you." While the two spoke, Mr. Jones and the unknown militia man were examining Jane.

"See the wounds, here and here. She's been shot twice." The militia man's voice was rough from smoke and over use. His words were unimpassioned, describing Jane's injuries like a smith points out impurities in a bar of iron. "And here you can see an electrical burn. From the placement in her mid-thorax I would be reluctant to suggest a natural lightning strike, despite the fact she was riding in the storm."

"No. That would have struck her crown, the tallest point." Mr. Jones agreed.

Elizabeth heard a sharp gasp and looked to see Mrs. Hurst standing in the doorway, her fist smothering any further expressions of dismay.

"What is her condition?" Mr. Darcy asked forcefully reminding the two medical men that there was an audience to their discussion.

After a few minutes silent examination both men looked at each other. Mr. Jones nodded his head to the militia man who then turned to Mr. Darcy. "She appears stable. Whatever the young lady here has done, she has brought the patient out of immediate danger. But there is still the matter of the bullets and other foreign matter that may be lodged in the wounds."

"A moment please," Mr. Darcy turned to Mr. Bingley's sisters who were watching in morbid fascination through the open doorway. "Perhaps it would be best if the ladies were to retire to the parlor. This is not a discussion fit for delicate sensibilities."

"I thank you for your consideration, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth stated flatly before anyone could suggest she withdraw with the other ladies, "But I shall stay with my sister."

"I was not speaking of you, Miss Elizabeth."

"I see," she said. "I appreciate your estimation of the … hardiness … of my character."

Before Mr. Darcy could respond, the uniformed gentleman interrupted. "We must remove all foreign objects before the wounds are closed. Is that within your capabilities, Miss …?"

"Bennet. I am Elizabeth Bennet. This is my elder sister, Miss Jane Bennet."

"I am Captain Hawthorne, regimental surgeon. I have some experience with treating such wounds. I can perform the removal and cleaning, if you can then close the wounds and discourage infection."

"That may be for the best. I could cause her body to expel the foreign objects, but it would be very hard on her and I do not know if she would be able to accomplish the task in her current condition."

"If you and Mr. Jones will consent to assist me in this operation I suggest we proceed with all due haste."

"Mr. Bingley, could you please order several ewers of boiled water and clean cloth, perhaps towels or bed linens," Mr. Jones requested. The young gentleman looked relieved for some occupation. He left the room, his voice already raised, though the servants he needed were waiting close by.

"Mr. Darcy, I think it best if you perhaps join the ladies in the parlor. I am certain they would draw comfort from your company." Elizabeth suggested, only half in irony. Detestable as the man was, his physical presence and calm demeanor were something of a comfort in this crisis. But she had to concentrate on her sister and could not allow herself to be distracted by the subtle sneers and looks of disapprobation he constantly sent her way.

He silently bowed himself from of the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Several hours earlier Darcy and Bingley were enjoying a light nuncheon with the officers and Sir William in the private parlor of the Red Lion. The conversation was agreeable enough, though the young gentlemen were a bit rambunctious for Darcy's taste. Bingley was enthralled by the tales of audacious exploits from the subalterns, though he privately doubted their complete authenticity. Sir William spent half the meal looking for acquaintances from his days in uniform that might be shared with the more senior officers and, finding none, spent the other half commiserating on the hardships common to all military men. The militia regiment was raised in Derbyshire and Darcy was familiar with some of the families represented. His father and Colonel Forster had been acquainted some years before, though Darcy had never met the man prior to their common arrival in Hertfordshire.

At around a quarter before one o'clock, a young man in the uniform of a private soldier came breathless into the room. He passed a whispered message to Captain Carter, who in turn desired a moment of the Colonel's time.

"Sir! There has been an attack on the road to Hatfield. Mr. William Goulding is murdered." Captain Carter reported excitedly.

"What!" "How?" and other exclamations and less savory expostulations filled the room.

"Major, have the lieutenants prepare the men for patrols. Captain Carter, please take me to the attack site. Captain Hawthorne, Sir William if you will accompany me."

"We shall accompany you as well," Darcy interjected. The Colonel considered him for a moment then nodded his acquiescence.

Eschewing their horses, the group walked quickly to the grisly scene. Darcy had seen worse. There was only one man and his mount lying dead by the side of the road. The harsh smell of burnt flesh and the copper tang of spilt blood was deadened only somewhat by the light rain. Captain Hawthorne, the regimental surgeon, moved to examine the young man's body.

"Three shots, two to the upper thorax and one to the left leg. He also has severe burns on his left arm, shoulder, neck, and face." The surgeon pointed to each wound as he cataloged them.

"His horse has been burned as well, but it looks odd," Captain Carter observed.

"That is an electrical burn," Darcy explained.

"But there's been no lightning?" Bingley questioned. His countenance was noticeably ashen as he assiduously avoided looking too closely at the macabre tableau. Darcy thought this might be his friend's first experience of bloody death.

"This is not natural. It is an elemental attack." Darcy stated. "This was the work of gifted assailants."

"We should send for Mr. Jones … and for Mr. Goulding," Sir William said, his face as somber as Darcy had ever seen it. "Poor lad." The private soldier was once again sent to Meryton, this time to fetch the apothecary who had treated the deceased for most of his tragically truncated life.

Darcy began examining the scene, looking for evidence of the attackers. He suspected there was more than one. The differing types of powers used, as well as the number of shots fired, made it highly unlikely that a single assassin could have executed the assault.

The attack had taken place on a narrow lane crowded on one side by trees and thick undergrowth and on the other by a low stone fence separating the lane from fallow fields. He found the burnt remnants of several paper cartridges in the grass on the lane side of the fence. The thick wet growth made it hard to find specific tracks, though there was evidence of several people waiting in ambush.

Before he could investigate too deeply, the private soldier returned with a most distressing report. Miss Bennet had been attacked on her way to Netherfield and the apothecary had gone to treat her.

"We must return!" Bingley demanded. Only Darcy's firm grip on his arm prevented him from racing away on his own.

"Two attacks in as many hours. This may be something more than highwaymen." Colonel Forster said.

"I agree," Darcy replied. "We'll go to Netherfield and find out what has happened. If it is possibly related, we will send word."

"In the meanwhile," Colonel Forster continued, "I fear we must raise a general alarm. Sir William, please write out notes to all the landed families. My men will deliver them. Tell them to secure their properties, but to hold fast. We'll search the roads. Mr. Bingley, may I suggest you take my surgeon with you. He's likely more familiar with this sort of attack," He gestured vaguely to the deceased gentleman. "… than your local fellow."

"An excellent idea," Darcy said. "Thank you. With your permission Captain, I will fly you to the house. Bingley, we'll fly close to the ground. Please escort us. It is safer to travel in company."

Bingley agreed, and they set off, covering the distance in mere minutes. Upon their arrival Darcy was shocked to discover Miss Elizabeth already present. He had considered the wisdom of requesting her presence for her healing ability, but had decided to await the prognoses of the medical men.

After seeing to Miss Bennet's immediate needs, Darcy had prevailed upon Bingley to inform both the mayor and regimental commander of the events at Netherfield. His young friend was unhappy to leave with his guest in such straits, but Darcy was able to convince him that all relevant authorities had to be alerted and informed. They could then send further word to the neighborhood.

"But I could reach all the estates in the area more quickly than Sir William or Colonel Forster."

"That's true. But you are new to the neighborhood and your warning might carry less weight than that of one their own. Colonel Forster is even less known to the area, but his uniform and position lend him additional credence." Darcy grasped his friend's shoulder gently. "Ultimately your responsibilities lie with your own estate. It is the duty of the chief magistrate and the militia to inform and protect the larger population."

"But …"

"Charles, go now. Once you have informed them, come back. If they need more assistance, I will go when you have returned."

"Very well." The young man, armed with a saber and brace of loaded pistols, speed away into the rain. Darcy used his enhanced vision to scan the edge of the trees and the far-flung fields. There were people out there, but none that looked particularly suspicious.

Inside, Bingley's sisters and Mr. Hurst were sheltering in the parlor, fortifying their courage with French brandy, despite the early hour. Darcy winced inwardly as he knew that inebriation was anathema to the sort of clear headed think that the current crisis required.

"It must be the French," Miss Bingley argued. "They've begun their invasion and mean to see us all beheaded, or worse." The last was uttered in such portentous tones that her sister uttered a small shriek of fright.

"Mr. Darcy!" the younger sister cried when she noticed his entrance. She surged somewhat unsteadily to her feet and flung herself towards him. He managed to catch her by the arms before she could clutch him in a most unseemly fashion. He led her back to her seat.

"Be at ease, Miss Bingley. While the situation is yet grave, there is no reason to suspect that it is the French. Our Navy yet protects our shores. Rather it is more likely that a highwayman or brigand set upon our guest. A danger, to be sure. But not a catastrophe." He yet kept from the ladies that Miss Bennet had not been the only attack in the neighborhood, nor the worst.

He turned to Mrs. Hurst, who seems somewhat more rational and asked to be apprised of her recollection of the events that led to Miss Bennet's presence at Netherfield.

"We had invited her to visit for the day, after you and Charles had departed for the militia headquarters. We sent a man with a note, and he returned with her acceptance." Mrs. Hurst began. She was warming to the task, as she seldom was given the opportunity to tell a tale with her sister present.

And so it proved on this occasion as well. As Miss Bingley could not relish losing the limelight in any social situation, especially she would not forgo an opportunity to bask in Mr. Darcy's attention and favor; she interrupted her sister's recitation. "We expected her to travel in a carriage, like any civilized person might. Especially as it seemed likely to rain. I mean, even a family as poor as the Bennets must have a carriage at their disposal, as outmoded as their conveyance may be. Instead she chose to travel on horseback. Alone and in the rain."

"Where and how was she attacked?" Darcy knew Miss Bingley could continue her animadversions almost indefinitely and he needed to discern the facts of the case.

"We know not," Mrs. Hurst interrupted. "She arrived bleeding and barely conscious. How she managed to maintain her faculties in such a condition I cannot imagine. Once she was in sight of the house, she collapsed from her horse. It stopped and stood over her like a sentinel. I wondered if it would let the footmen approach her to bring her into the house."

"What time was this?"

"It must have been at half past twelve?" Mrs. Hurst suggested.

"Perhaps a bit later; almost one," Miss Bingley disagreed, not to be out done. "From her reply to our note, we expected her between twelve and half past."

"Thank you, ladies. I must excuse myself. I encourage you to find some way to pass the time productively. It is likely that dinner will be delayed or curtailed this evening. Perhaps you can make provisions for such an eventuality." With that, he left the room and made his way to the temporary sickroom.

He stopped to question the housekeeper, who had positioned herself in a chair across the hall from the door. "Mrs. Weaver, have you any word as to the progress of the surgery?"

"Miss Elizabeth came out a little while ago to dispose of the used water and to ask for more clean ewers to be brought. She said the surgery was a success, but that Miss Bennet is far from recovered. It's the lightning, I heard Mr. Jones say. It has injured her insides something fierce."

"Is there anything they need, other than more water?"

"I know of nothing."

"Very well. We appreciate your efforts in this matter." The older woman blushed slightly at the gentleman's praise. "Please keep me informed of any requests or reports."

Afterwards Darcy made his way to his apartments. His valet, Prentis, was brushing off the protective clothes he occasionally wore when investigating in the country. Buckskin trousers, double breasted leather waistcoat and a heavy coat of dark green. There was a harness for four pistols, a broad bladed knife and a small sword. There was a case of small bottles and envelopes for collecting evidence and some bandages for any wounds. In his many pockets, he carried his warrant as crown magistrate, a tinderbox, candle stubs, cord, various useful tools, and a pencil and paper for notes.

"Will you be needing this, sir?" Prentis inquired.

"Perhaps, but not quite yet. Thank you for your forethought."

"Best to be prepared." The valet's aphorism was as well-worn as it was true.

"Please let me know when either Miss Elizabeth or the medical fellows emerge from the room, Mr. Bingley returns, or we have another visitor. I need to make some notes." Darcy expected that Mr. Bennet might visit to see to his two daughters. On the other hand, that would leave the rest of his family unprotected. Whether or not he came would likely depend on how much he trusted his wife to secure their home versus how well he expected his second eldest daughter to deal with the attack. It was an unenviable position for the man,, but given that he had made Miss Elizabeth his sheriff, Darcy felt it was unlikely they would see him this evening.

That proved to be the case. Prentis alerted him upon Bingley's return. "Any news, Charles?"

"Nothing new. How is Miss Bennet?"

"Nothing new."

That afternoon Darcy had patrolled the surrounding environs. From the air he could see fewer people than he might expect. And many of those were farmers and their families standing guard over flocks and homes with whatever makeshift weapons they might lay their hands upon. He found no sign of further attacks, or the attackers.


	9. Chapter 9

It was late in the evening when Elizabeth, Mr. Jones, and Captain Hawthorne descended to join the others at their abridged repast. Jane was stable, with all her external wounds healed. Elizabeth had been amazed at how Captain Hawthorne used a paltry levitation gift to aid in his surgery. He seemed to be able to use invisible fingers to feel around in the wounds for debris, drawing out any that he found, then suturing the wounds starting from deep in the body and working his way to the surface; all without actually touching the patient. She knew she could not do the same, as her gift gave her no particular control over inorganic materials.

After the surgeon had finished his work, Elizabeth had regulated Jane's humors until they were balanced for slowly healing the damage done by the electricity that had surged through her vital organs. Between the horrific shock and the brutal punishment from the lead projectiles, her liver, heart and lungs had all been damaged and would require time to recover, even under Elizabeth's care. After which, Mr. Jones had prescribed several poultices and powders to prevent infection and to reduce her pain. Elizabeth would arrange with Mrs. Weaver to ignore those instructions as her form of healing would ameliorate any of those risks.

"Miss Elizabeth, how fares your sister?" Mr. Bingley almost sprang to his feet as they entered the dining room. He rushed to her and took her hand. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am that your sister should be injured on my estate. I must have full responsibility for her welfare until she is recovered."

"Charles!" Miss Bingley squawked. Elizabeth smiled inwardly. That was almost a declaration of intent on the young gentlemen's part. But she suspected it originated in feelings of guilt and shame rather than affection; and she knew Jane would not wish to secure a match though such unhappy emotions.

"Please be at ease, Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth soothed. "Jane will recover, though it will be some time before it is safe to move her. I pray you will extend to us your hospitality until that time. I can either stay here to take care of her, or travel from Longbourn each day. I'm afraid without my care, she will face a much longer and more uncomfortable convalescence."

"Of course, you must stay as long as you like. I cannot be comfortable with you leaving us until the area has been determined to be without danger. Even then … I would do anything to help in her recovery." Elizabeth looked away from the gentleman's display of emotion. Her attention was captured by the scowl on Mr. Darcy's countenance. He cannot be happy to be thrown into prolonged company with someone he finds so distasteful. Not that she anticipated any great pleasure for herself from his society. Looking at the others at the table, she felt she was let herself in for a most disagreeable visit.

"Thank you for your kindness. I do feel I must travel home this evening, both to inform my family of Jane's condition and to gather a few necessities for my stay here. If it is acceptable I will return to Netherfield before the evening is over."

"Surely it would be better to send a footman?" Miss Bingley said.

"It would not be _safe_ to send a footman," Mr. Darcy stated flatly. "And it is much less safe to send a lady, particularly alone. I can go to Longbourn if you feel it is imperative that someone must go."

"I think you for your consideration, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said tightly. She was incensed that he though so little of her abilities that he would restrict her like a school girl to the nursery. "But you must recall that I am the sheriff of Longbourn. It is my duty to see to the safety of our estate. I will be safe and can make the journey in very little time."

The two medical men were standing in silent embarrassment at the unexpected conflict. Elizabeth saw their chagrin and blushed at the spectacle she was making. Her mother was always cautioning her against her hoydenish behavior. She dropped a quick curtsey to the room and moved toward the entrance. Mr. Bingley started to object, but she was out of his sight before he could form his arguments. Mr. Weaver had her pelisse and bonnet in hand and offered them to her as she reached the front door.

"Thank you," she smiled. The Weavers had been at Netherfield Park since before Elizabeth was born. They had always been kind to her and her sisters. The older man simply nodded and opened the door for her. She stepped out into the cool evening. The rain had passed, and the stars shone through the scattered clouds. The thin sliver of the waning moon offered little in the way of light, but her cat's eyes allowed her to see almost as clearly as during the day. She started around the house, making towards the most direct route to Longbourn, the route her sister would have ridden that morning. She was able to find the scent of Jane's blood on the ground. She followed it into the night.

She moved quickly and unerringly across the muddy fields. She found that the trail was not straight. It meandered through fields and gates, taking a circuitous route. She pictured in her mind her sister, wounded and barely conscious, trying feebly to coax Old Daisy towards Netherfield. The horse would have been frightened by the smell of her blood and unhappy in the rain. Home would have been the animal's natural inclination. The fact that Jane had steered towards Netherfield likely meant that the attack had happened nearer her destination than her point of origin. Or that the attackers were between her and her home, making Netherfield the more prudent choice.

 _Or she might have been delirious from her injury and had no real notion of what she was doing._ Elizabeth chided herself for trying to draw conclusions from such meager evidence.

After some time, Elizabeth found the site of the attack. The blood stains and burnt grass gave testament to the violence done there. Jane had been just over the border onto Netherfield property in a hillside field with a view of the great house in the distance. Elizabeth looked for signs of the ambushers. In the woods at the edge of the field, on Longbourn property she thought sourly, she found a dropped paper cartridge, some gnawed rabbit bones, and a broken clay pipe.

It was only fifty yards or so from where Jane had ridden. Not a hard shot, even in the rain. The trees would have given some shelter to the attackers, making it easier for the flintlock muskets to fire. At least two different weapons were used, as they both hit her at nearly the same time, else they chased her while she rode away to get the second shot in.

"Miss Elizabeth?" She jumped at the voice and chided herself. She had been concentrating so much on looking for evidence in the dark woods that she had allowed Mr. Darcy, for that was who had called her from the edge of the trees, to catch her unawares.

She emerged from the woods in the starlit field. "Mr. Darcy?" she replied. She noticed his eyes seemed unnaturally bright in the starlight, as if there was a lantern focused on them. _Some effect of his gift_ , she decided.

"I had hoped you were traveling straight home."

"I wanted to discover anything I could about the attack before the weather washed away any signs. I will need to make a full report to my magistrate."

"As the attack happened on Netherfield property, I feel that acting in Mr. Bingley's stead, the responsibility for the investigation is mine."

"While it is true that my sister was on Mr. Bingley's land when she was injured, the criminal action took place here on Longbourn property. Therefore, the jurisdiction is mine."

Mr. Darcy pierced Elizabeth with his haughty gaze, his grey eyes flashing in antagonism. "This was not the only attack today. And as the other took place on a crown road, I will be leading the investigation as a crown magistrate."

"What other attack?"

Mr. Darcy hesitated before eventually deigning to share his knowledge. "Mr. William Goulding was murdered between his estate and Meryton. The evidence indicate that attack was related to Miss Bennet's."

Elizabeth staggered back, her face falling. She had never been overly friendly with William Goulding. He was five years older than her, and had never had much interest in "the petticoat line" as he used to say; though he would occasionally spend an evening gazing longingly at Jane. She had always thought him a bit of a coxcomb. But to hear he had been murdered was shocking.

"I am sorry to bring you pain. I hope you were not … close?" Darcy's voice held great distaste for the idea that any man might find her interesting.

"Our acquaintance was of some duration, but was not particularly close for all its length. Have there been any other incidents? What is being done in Meryton?"

"The Colonel and the Mayor have both been informed. The regiment has been dispersed to patrol the neighborhood. No other occurrences have been reported, so far."

"Very well." She resumed her examination of the site, concentrating on any scents she might be able to discern. But a day's steady rain had washed away any useful trails. She returned to the site were the ambushers had waited, to find Mr. Darcy gathering the few artifacts left behind. She was curious as to why he was doing so, but would not give him the satisfaction of asking.

"Shall we continue to Longbourn?" he asked.

"You are determined to accompany me?"

"I feel it safer."

"If you insist. But now that I have found what I was looking for, I see no further need to dawdle." With that she spread her wings and took to the sky. She was somewhat surprised to find Mr. Darcy following her into the air and keeping pace with apparent ease.

They arrived at Longbourn to find it surrounded by torches and armed footmen. Mr. Bennet, wearing a matching set of dueling pistols and a cutlass, giving him a somewhat piratical appearance, met them as they landed. Mrs. Bennet could be seen in the doorway.

"How is my daughter?"

"She was grievously injured, but she will recover in due time," Elizabeth assured him. She pitched her voice to carry and saw her mother tremble at the news. "I will need to return to her side and she will be at least a week at Netherfield before she will be well enough to remove. I wanted to let you know."

"She should stay until she is fully recovered, even if that takes a month complete," Mrs. Bennet said, a smile growing on her face.

"Mr. Darcy has news for you from Meryton. Jane's was not the only assault." Elizabeth hurriedly expostulated, attempting to prevent her mother from announcing her intended machinations to achieve an advantageous marriage for her eldest, and loveliest, daughter.

"Perhaps we might retire to my sanctuary, Mr. Darcy. We can discuss further developments in there." Mr. Bennet invited. The two men left

Elizabeth swiftly embraced her agitated mother. "She'll be fine. It was a close thing. But she's stronger than we give her credit for. She'll be just fine." The two ladies followed the gentlemen into the house, where Mrs. Bennet spread the good news of Jane's survival and Elizabeth asked Sally to help pack a trunk for her expected extended stay at Netherfield.

She made certain that both her full medical accouterments and her investigative tools and combat gear were included in the packing. She had a feeling that this was just the beginning of a very bad time. But she reaffirmed her commitment that she would do her duty to her family and her dependents, no matter what the disagreeable Mr. Darcy though of the matter.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning started early for Darcy. He performed an aerial reconnaissance of the neighborhood, looking for anything out of place. In particular, he was searching for any signs of another ambush, or the preparations for one. He saw one other flyer in the air, a royal messenger paralleling the Great North Road. He spotted a band of Strangefellows on Longbourn lands. Circling closer, the Derbyshireman discovered the travelers were working to repair a broken axel on one of their wagons. He spotted several obvious grotesques and wondered if any of the band might be fire or lightning elementals. He had dealt with numerous groups of Strangefellows over the years. Some had proven troublesome, while most were peaceful, if left unmolested. Few were above taking any opportunity offered them to enrich themselves. He determined he would return to question the group, though given that they were on Bennet property, it would be proper to inform Miss Elizabeth or Mr. Bennet of his intentions.

Finding no other circumstances out of the ordinary, Darcy returned to Netherfield in time to join his hosts for their morning repast. Bingley's sisters were palpably frightened. The violence perpetrated so near their home and to an acquaintance on her way to visit them made the possibility of their own danger more real.

"Mr. Darcy, surely we should remove to Town," Miss Bingley stated. "There is no reason to embroil ourselves in this turmoil."

"We would assuredly be safer in the metropolis if the French, or some revolutionary group, is beginning to rampage through the country," Mrs. Hurst agreed.

"I cannot disagree that we are facing an unknown threat," Darcy replied. "I would suggest that the roads are not yet secure enough to ensure your safe return. And even if they were, you could not leave. Bingley has a responsibility to this estate, and you have a responsibility to your guests. Surely you were not thinking of moving Miss Bennet at this time."

"The Housekeeper and her sister can see to Miss Bennet. For all we know the assailants are after her in particular and her presence in this house is endangering us all!" Miss Bingley said.

"Caroline! Surely you do not mean that!" Bingley protested.

"You cannot prove me wrong in this, Charles. She is a delightful creature and I wish her no ill, but this attack could well be personal and by harboring her, we may make targets of ourselves."

"Either way it would be safer to leave this place forthwith!" Mrs. Hurst stressed.

"But that means no shooting," Mr. Hurst murmured. Darcy suspected the fellow was a trifle disguised, even at this early hour.

"No!" Bingley raised his voice. "We are not abandoning our guests, or fleeing from this crisis. You wanted to be landed gentry, sister. This is part of what holding that station means. I suggest you and Louisa see to our guests and prepare the household for further casualties. I should rather be prepared than found wanting."

This unaccustomed outburst brought a hush to the room that endured until the arrival of Miss Elizabeth. Darcy saw she was dressed simply, yet with a certain innate elegance that contrasted favorably with Miss Bingley's measured ostentation. "Good morning, Miss Elizabeth." Bingley's tone was once more friendly and solicitous. "May I inquire after your sister's recovery?"

"She is somewhat better. Though it will be several days before she will be well enough to remove to Longbourn."

"Please don't think of that," Bingley replied. "You are both welcome here as long as you would like. I … feel somewhat responsible for her misfortune. She was injured on my property."

"Perhaps, though that has not been fully determined." She served herself a light meal and joined the group at the table. "More to the point, the safety of the area was my responsibility, as the de facto sheriff for the Sturbridge's and for my father. You have not been in residence long enough yet to be able to effectively patrol the estate. If this is not a transitory difficulty. then it is I that has missed the sowing of the seeds of this disaster." She picked at her food, then pushed it away. Darcy was struck by her discouraged mien. He detested seeing such bright eyes dimmed with sorrow or concern.

"I found a band of Strangefellows on your land this morning." Darcy began. Miss Elizabeth's eyes came up and met his. "I would like to question them."

"Yes, of course," Miss Bingley cried. "It must be those ruffians. They should all be driven into the sea. But surely you should send the militia on such a hazardous task. You cannot risk yourself with such filth."

Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth's eyes flash as she turned to her hostess. Before she could cast such aspersions as were obviously on her tongue, he interrupted. "I strongly doubt that there is any danger in speaking to these unfortunates. But all avenues must be investigated."

Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bingley both turned to look at him in some disbelief. "I shall accompany you to speak with them. I know this band, and it is I that gave them permission to camp in those woods."

"As you wish," Darcy agreed. He admired her sense of duty in this. It stood out in bright relief beside the actions of Bingley's sisters. He contemplated for a moment on which example he would rather his sister follow.

An hour later Darcy and Elizabeth landed near the encampment. A canid hybrid woman, her advanced age apparent from the grey on her muzzle, approached them cautiously. She offered Miss Elizabeth a shallow bow. Her eyes settled warily on Darcy. "Nana Hound. May I introduce Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Mr. Darcy, this is Nana Hound, the matriarch of the Red Top band of Strangers."

Darcy found Strangers, or Strangefellows as he had been introduced to them as a boy, uncomfortably outside the norms of class and propriety. They were disconcerting, as they could not be easily adjudged by class or birth. This woman might have been born the daughter of a duke, but her grotesquery would have forced her family to banish her. Usually such unfortunates were sent to the Isle of Mann, where it was rumored that an exile from the Royal family ruled over a society of aberrations. As was often the case he employed a demeanor of distant courtesy. A nod, no different from the one the stranger had offered, was his response to the introduction.

"I gave you leave to stay a week complete," Miss Elizabeth said. "But that was almost a month ago."

"Yes," they hybrid answered slowly. "But it turned out the work needed on our wagons were much more extensive than anticipated. As we were preparing to leave two weeks ago, the axels on two of our wagons broke. It has taken us this long to get replacements and effect repairs. As you can see we are almost ready. We expect to move on today or tomorrow."

"Have you any elementals in your band?" Darcy asked bluntly. It was the information most urgently needed to determine their culpability in the attacks. Nothing but natural lightning or an electrical elemental could have caused the damage to Miss Bennet or Mr. Goulding's horse.

The old woman stared at him blankly for a moment. "Florence has a bit of plant speaking and Rocky a bit of earth control. Other than that, no."

"No fire or electrical powers?"

"None."

Darcy had no means of discerning the truth. There were special augers who could read a person's gift. They were often employed in cases where gifts were subtle or hidden. They were also used to detect nulls or confirm wilders. Such a person could perceive the nature of a person's gift and would be able to corroborate the Strangefellow's claim.

Miss Elizabeth nodded subtlety to him. He assumed that meant she had the auger's ability as part of her broader somatic gifts. She turned to address the traveler. "There were two attacks yesterday. Both carried out by a group of armed and gifted assailants. Both fire and lightning attacks were used. In your time in the neighborhood, have you heard of any groups that might have been able to perpetrate these attacks?"

The old hybrid scratched her chin and glanced at one of her band. A large young man with broad shoulders and long hair stepped away from his wife and children. He wore a hammer amulet on a leather thong around his neck. When he spoke, his voice was deep and slow. "I am Sigmund. When our fellows came to deliver the axels some days ago, one of my cousins mentioned that there had been a number of attacks on the roads between St. Albans's and Meryton. I was stopping for a pint at Miller's flash-house. There were some ragged lobsters on the cut. One, more jug-bitten than the others, said something about going out on the high-toby. His trusty trojans got him outside quicklike, but I figure they's bothering the highway trade."

Darcy had to consider the man's story from a moment, working to decipher his jargon. "Do I understand you to say that there are some soldiers that may be occupied as highwaymen to be found at this Miller's tavern?"

The man nodded. "More likely deserters. I seen them there thrice."

"I know where Miller's is." Miss Elizabeth revealed in a quiet aside to Darcy. He was surprised that a lady of quality would be familiar with what sounded like an establishment of low repute. But he realized he was aware of such places on or near his property as well. It was part of the duty of a magistrate or sheriff occasionally to deal with such riffraff.

"There's more," said the hybrid leader. She gestured for a green skinned woman. "This is Florence. She had word from her brother recently."

"I got a letter that said that an infamous blackguard named Black Tom Tolland recently moved from Tottenham to near Hatfield. I am certain I saw him near Purvis Lodge. There is a vacant farm house by the grey thorn oak and the honey rose field. I think he is hiding there. He is so frightening. The grass will not grow near him."

Darcy again looked at Miss Elizabeth. She thought for a minute. "Near the glade with the triple tree?" she clarified, making a sign with her hand signifying a tree with three trunks. The plant speaker agreed. "I know where it is."

"Have you heard or seen anything else that might help us find the perpetrators?" Darcy asked.

"We will listen, but we leave tomorrow." The leader said.

"With Miss Elizabeth's permission, I would ask that you stay until the investigation is complete. The roads may not be safe." Darcy said.

"He's right. Please take another few days here." Miss Elizabeth confirmed.

"Nowhere is really safe, but we will stay."

"What shall we do?" Darcy asked his companion as they walked from the camp.

"I think we need to investigate these leads. Miller's is on crown land and Purvis Lodge is vacant, so in neither case is there a landowner with whom we would need to coordinate. I have heard whispers of this Black Tom. While it is said he works alone, that may have changed."

"The deserters may have a fallen officer or two in their ranks. That would explain the use of gifts in the attacks."

"Purvis Lodge is closer to Haye-Park, the Goulding's home. I suggest we look there first."

"Very well. Please lead the way." Darcy assumed this firebrand would not be willing to stay safely aside while he confronted this brigand and his cronies. But he felt that he could keep her safe if she was in front of him, so he could see any threats or attacks on her and respond in time to prevent any harm from coming to her.


	11. Chapter 11

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy approached the supposed hideout of the highwayman known as Black Tom Tolland. The area contained patches of overgrown fields and stands of trees and shrubs. There was a derelict cart path leading to the abandoned cottage. The two investigators had taken a position almost a hundred yards from the hovel and were watching for signs of illicit habitation. They had landed some distance away and had made their way through brush and shadow to avoid premature detection.

"Can you … sense anything?" Mr. Darcy's tone hinted at his disgust of her animalistic abilities.

Elizabeth inhaled the local aromas with a deep breath. She could detect the normal scents of a semi-wilderness in November. But she also found traces of wood smoke, charred meat, human fear, and an unfamiliar astringent scent. Her nose twitched as she sensed the familiar, but nauseating, stench of rotten eggs. She shivered in revulsion.

Mr. Darcy started to speak, but she held up her hand peremptorily to still him. She focused on her hearing, sifting through the natural noises to find something out of place. The sounds of muffled voices and the clatter of dishes could be heard coming from the cabin.

"They are there," she said. "At least two. One man, one woman. Maybe more. I am not certain they are all there of their own volition. There is also something I have never encountered before; a sharp, almost chemical, smell. But is it intermixed with, almost overpowered by, a sulfurous scent - possibly rotten eggs."

"I have heard that Black Tom is named so because his skin is like burnt rubber. Perhaps that is the smell?"

"It may be." She looked at her companion. "Have you a suggestion for how we should proceed? If there are prisoners or hostages in the cottage, we cannot risk a frontal assault."

Mr. Darcy peered towards the building. Elizabeth once again noticed a subtle shimmering in front of his eyes. "I see hints of movement inside."

She took a closer look and saw that there was motion detectible though the spaces left around the ill-fitting door and shutters. She could not make out how many there were in the cottage, but more than one was evident. "Still cannot be certain of the number or nature of those present."

"Perhaps a more direct approach is called for. I can call out the blackguard. If you are in position to flank them should they all prove hostile, I believe we can prevail in a direct confrontation." Elizabeth was surprised he would trust her even with a support role, then realized it was likely his own self-assurance that he could vanquish any possible opposition at play, and he simply wanted her out of the way.

"Very well. I shall position myself in those trees." She pointed to a copse of tall beeches that only began to branch out high above the ground. From there she would be hidden out of their immediate line of sight, yet still within range to affect the humors of any coming out of the cottage. Mr. Darcy nodded, and Elizabeth crept though the underbrush until she reached the base of the tallest tree. She scampered up it, in what she was certain Mr. Darcy would see as a most unladylike manner. Once she signaled she was in place, her companion strode openly towards the cottage, a faint shield shimmering in front of him. When he was thirty yards from the shack, he stopped and gestured. A fallen branch flew from the ground and crashed into the door.

A sharp shriek sounded from within the cottage, followed by a slap of flesh striking flesh. The door slammed open and in it was one of the most frightening men Elizabeth had ever seen. He was so tall he had to stoop almost double when he stepped through the portal. His skin was as black and shiny as wet pitch. His head was topped with ram's horns and red fangs protruded from his snarling lips. His naked muscular torso sported four brawny arms. He was a true grotesque.

"Black Tom Tolland!" Mr. Darcy's voice carried easily throughout the clearing. "I arrest you in the name of the King. Come peacefully or I will be forced to resort to methods most unpleasant to both of us."

"Peacefully! You don't know me very well, toff. You want me, you gotta pay in blood." The brigand's lower hands reshaped into blades and he charged towards the magistrate.

Mr. Darcy brought up both hands, the shimmering shield sharpened into full visibility, and he pushed it towards the charging villain. The ruffian brought up his upper arms, his fists transformed to mauls, and hammered through the shield.

Elizabeth almost laughed at the expression of astonishment on the Derbyshireman's features. Her amusement abruptly ended when the giant's lower arms shot out a dozen paces to impale Mr. Darcy's waistcoat. She watched in horror as her companion was thrust from his feet to dangle in the air like a speared fish. It was not until Elizabeth could see that Mr. Darcy had managed to grab Black Tom's wrist before he could complete his attack. The magistrate was actually holding himself off the ground.

Movement at the cottage door drew Elizabeth's attention. She turned as the figure of a younger woman, bearing evidence of hard use, was pushed through the door. Without looking back, she fled into the fields behind the small house, away from the battle in the lane. Elizabeth recognized the young woman as being Prudence Waltham, a tenant from a farm on the Lucas estate. She had heard rumors that girl had left home some weeks ago to elope with a lover from St. Albans. Elizabeth thought it likely that she had, instead, been abducted by Tolland. She would look her up when the current investigation was complete to see if she might help her overcome any lingering effects of her misuse.

A thunderous crash brought her attention back to the conflict in the clearing. Mr. Darcy and Black Tom were rolling in the wreckage of an old farm cart. Elizabeth thought the two titans looked evenly matched. Surprisingly, Mr. Darcy seemed to have an advantage in pure strength as he could hold back the giant's arms and withstand the bludgeoning blows. But Tolland's greater number of limbs and ability to stretch and shapeshift allowed him to keep the magistrate on the defensive.

The quiet sound of a mechanical click almost went unnoticed by Elizabeth. But her instinct caused her to look back at the cottage door, wherein stood a raggedly dressed older man with a musket pointed at Mr. Darcy. The click was the man's cocking of the flint to fire. Elizabeth reached out with her gift. Usually she needed to touch a person or animal to manipulate their nature. But there were some simple effects she could create at a distance. She caused the muscles in the brigand's arms to spasm, jerking the rifle out of line. It fired, and the ball slammed into Black Tom's broad back, seemingly bouncing off to impact a tree.

Elizabeth leapt from her tree, reaching out to touch the gunman. With lightening reflexes, he snatched a pistol from his belt and brought it around in time to fire at her. Like a falling cat, she twisted her body in midair, narrowly avoiding the shot. But her action brought her to the ground out of reach of her attacker.

"Elizabeth!" Mr. Darcy cried. He thrust his right hand at the gunman, unleashing a translucent pulse. As the scoundrel tried desperately to snatch another pistol from his belt, the wave of energy smashed into him, slamming him back through the wall of the cottage.

Black Tom took advantage of his opponent's distraction and stretched an arm out to encircle Elizabeth's waist, lifting her off the ground, and constricting most painfully. At the same time, he used three arms to slam Mr. Darcy into the thick trunk of an ancient oak. Elizabeth was much tougher than she looked. She was able to lay her hand on the offending limb and sent a pulse that should have rendered the villain insensible. But somehow his unusual morphology could partially resist her manipulation. Instead of unconsciousness, her attack caused him to scream out and writhe in uncontrollable agony. His grip loosened, and Elizabeth could force herself free of the flailing limb.

Mr. Darcy also extricated himself, then stepped back and brought both fists down powerfully onto the air in front of him. Black Tom appeared to be pinned with a giant weight, pressing him into the hard soil. A circular indentation depressed the ground below him and his malleable body seemed to flatten into the depression. Yet he still struggled feebly.

"I can hold him like this, but I do not know if I can do more. He seems almost immune to concussion or pressure." Mr. Darcy's voice was strained.

"Give me a moment," Elizabeth said. She reached out to feel the somatic energy in the scoundrel's body. It was not easy. His system was so different from those she had manipulated before. She could almost feel the gift pulsing strong within him. Slowly she twisted the humors within the brigand, settling them into a balance that brought him into a state of somnolence. Fearing that would not be enough, she brought him deeper into insensibility. She disconnected the connections to his senses, so he would not be brought to wakefulness by external stimulus and temporarily paralyzed his body. After a moment she said, "He should be safe now."

"Thank you," Mr. Darcy said as he released the energy holding the blackguard to the ground. "I was at a loss as to what should we do? Somehow I do not think binding him would prove too effective."

"What of his compatriot?" Elizabeth remembered and turned to find the other attacker unconscious in the ruins of the cottage. She went over to check his condition, only to find him battered, but alive. She started sifting through the wreckage, looking for indications of a connection between the villains and the attack on her sister.

Their scents were not familiar, nor did she see any signs of missing compatriots who might possess the gifts used in the attacks. She did find several leather bags of coins and jewelry half-buried under the hearthstone. She lifted the large stone away from the ground and tossed it towards the barn. She began to examine what she assumed was the highwayman's ill-gotten loot.

After a few minutes, Elizabeth became sensible of Mr. Darcy's intense scrutiny. She blushed under his inspection, fearing she presented quite the pattern of the country hoyden. She stood and brushed herself off. "I can find no evidence linking them to the attacks." She gestured to the loot. "There was no sign that there was any attempt to rob Jane, nor have you mentioned any such theft of Mr. Goulding's property."

Mr. Darcy gazed at her a moment longer, then answered. "There were no signs of such at the scene. So, you feel confident these were not the assailants?"

"Not of my sister, but certainly they have been a plague on the neighborhood. Their hostage was the daughter of one of Sir William's tenants."

"Then after we remand them to Colonel Forster's custody, we must continue our search?"

"It seems so."

"But what of you? Are you injured? I see no blood, so I assume the coward was not successful in his aim." Mr. Darcy gestured to the gunman. "But if you need to rest or recover, I can investigate the deserters at the pot house on my own, or with some of the militia officers."

"I thank you for your solicitude, but I am well and still determined in my duty."

"Very well, then shall we proceed?"


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This is another chapter with and abundance of the original text, so I will post two chapters today to make up for it.

Darcy was disappointed that the deserters had also proven not to be the culprits for whom they were searching. Instead, they were a ragtag band of desperate men holed up in a dilapidated inn well off the beaten path. They had put up little resistance when offered a forceful demonstration of Darcy and Miss Elizabeth's gifts. She had lifted a beer wagon over her head and he had hovered in the air with his weapons hovering beside him in battery. Again, it seemed they had flushed the wrong quarry. There were no gifts to be found among them, so they could not be responsible for the attacks in question. Nonetheless, it was still worthwhile to remove them as a danger to the free flow of trade.

Bingley and his sisters had greeted Miss Elizabeth and him upon their return to Netherfield. Their host had been effusive in his solicitation of Miss Elizabeth's wellbeing, as the evidence of their adventures was plain to see in her dishabille. Her sturdy dress and spencer were bespattered and stained, though not torn, after her adventures. Miss Elizabeth had immediately excused herself to attend to her sister. Darcy assumed she would also refresh herself and dress for dinner.

At five o'clock Darcy also retired to dress, a slight smile creased his visage while his valet dressed him. He recalled Miss Elizabeth's behavior during the day. She was stalwart, clever, and dutiful. Her beauty and vitality were all the more in evidence during their adventures, though he admitted that her more animalistic traits could be somewhat disconcerting. He found that entering combat with her at his side and the fact that she had saved him from possible injury, if not death, made the difference in their consequence seem somehow less significant. She was extraordinarily gifted, which could make up for a great many social shortcomings. He spent much of the afternoon, after his and Miss Elizabeth's return to Netherfield, dwelling not on his duties, but on thoughts of a fascinating lady.

At half past six the guests were summoned to dinner. Darcy was happy to see that Miss Elizabeth was appropriately, if somewhat unfashionably, attired. While he was always punctilious in his own adornment, he thought her dress more suited to a country house dinner than the London styles of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.

Bingley started the conversation once they were all seated. "Miss Elizabeth, how does your sister do? Is she any better?"

"I thank you," Miss Elizabeth replied. "I believe she is a little better. But I am afraid we must trespass a bit longer on your hospitality. It will be some days yet before she is well enough to move."

"Please think nothing of it." Bingley's smile gave Darcy cause for some concern. He knew his young friend was a romantic fellow, prone to forming quick attachments. Darcy pondered the necessity of having a quiet word to remind him not to allow exceptions to develop.

"Pray tell us how your investigations progress, Mr. Darcy," inquired Miss Bingley.

"Looked like you found something amiss," Mr. Hurst jested.

"Miss Elizabeth was able to procure two possibilities," Darcy said, "Unfortunately, while both led to the apprehension of several criminals, none proved to be the perpetrators of the crimes that we were investigating."

"Perhaps you should take a more active role in tracking these villains down, Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley suggested. "While I am certain that Miss Eliza is familiar with the neighborhood, she lacks your magisterial experience and expertise."

"I think you would be surprised at Miss Elizabeth's capabilities." Darcy replied.

"Sir William and Colonel Forster have called a meeting of the local landowners for tomorrow at the Red Lion. Will you accompany me, Darcy?" Bingley asked.

"I think I should continue with the investigation. I will keep you informed of any developments before the meeting, so you may inform the others of our progress."

"What are your next steps?" their host queried.

"I believe we must go back to our source and see if we might pry anymore information out of them." Darcy answered.

"I was thinking that we might have another avenue of investigation open to us," the guest from Longbourn interjected. "You collected various items from the attack sites, did you not?"

Darcy silently assented.

"You may not be aware, but my father is a historian." The others looked nonplussed. "He fell into this avocation due, in part, to his unusual gift. He is a psychometrician. That is, he can gain insights into the history of items merely by touching them. I suggest we take the items we recovered and let him see if he can pry any useful information from them."

"That sounds farfetched," Miss Bingley complained.

"And yet he is a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of London based largely on the histories he has recorded from his psychometric visions. I truly believe he may be able to help us."

"Very well. We will try that first." Darcy allowed.

When dinner was over, Miss Elizabeth returned directly to her sister, and Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence. "

She has no conversation, no style, no taste, and no beauty." Miss Bingley concluded.

"She has nothing, in short, to recommend her," Mrs. Hurst complained. "I shall never forget her appearance this afternoon. She really looked almost wild."

"She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance," exclaimed Miss Bingley. "Very nonsensical for her to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her father cannot be bothered to police his own lands? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!"

"Yes, and her petticoat! I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain."

"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said Bingley. "But this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth looked remarkably well, when she returned this afternoon. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice."

"You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," said Miss Bingley, "and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."

"Certainly not." Darcy replied. "But my sister is in a very different situation than Miss Elizabeth."

"To pretend that she has any place acting as a sheriff and battling highwaymen! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum."

"It shows an attention to duty that is very pleasing," said Bingley.

"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy," observed Miss Bingley in a half whisper, "that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her _fine eyes_."

"Not at all," he replied. "They were brightened by the exercise."

A short pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again. "I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet. She is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it."

"I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton."

"Yes. And they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside."

"And no one in her mother's family with a hint of a gift," added Miss Bingley. "I have even heard that her bluestocking sister is actually … a hollow. Not even a wilder, like that former shopkeeper Sir William, but completely ungifted."

Darcy thought Miss Bingley's deriding a wilder was highly hypocritical, given that her father was one, thus granting her family ascension into the gentry.

"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable to me. And their sister's gift, or lack thereof, means nothing to me either."

"But these facts must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," replied Darcy, trying to help his friend regain his perspective. As loathe as he was to admit it, as the elder Bennet sisters were each remarkable in their own ways, their family and connections were simply insupportable.

To this speech Bingley made no answer.

After some time spent at the expense of their wounded guest, Bingleys sisters seemed to undergo a renewal of tenderness. They repaired to Miss Bennet's room and sat with her until summoned to coffee. Miss Bennet was still very poorly, and Miss Elizabeth would not quit her at all until late in the evening.

On entering the drawing-room Miss Elizabeth found the whole party playing loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but declined, saying she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.

"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he. "That is rather singular."

"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else."

"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried Miss Elizabeth. "I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."

"In nursing your sister, I am sure you have pleasure," said Bingley. "And I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well."

Miss Elizabeth thanked him, and then walked towards a table where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her others; all that his library afforded.

"And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into."

Miss Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the room.

"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"

"It ought to be good," he replied, "It has been the work of many generations."

"And then you have added so much to it yourself. You are always buying books."

"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these." Darcy chided.

"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."

"I wish it may," He agreed.

"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighborhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."

"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it."

"I am talking of possibilities, Charles," Miss Bingley scolded.

"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation."

Miss Elizabeth seemed much caught by what passed, and soon laying her book aside, she drew near the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his sister to observe the game.

"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" ask Miss Bingley to Darcy who had quit the card game to write a letter to his sister. "Will she be as tall as I am?"

"I think she will," Darcy agreed. "She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller."

"How I long to see her again!" Miss Bingley said. "I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is exquisite."

"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."

"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?" exclaimed Mrs. Hurst.

"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."

"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it for nothing other than netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."

"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.

"Then," observed Miss Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished women."

"Yes. I do comprehend a great deal in it," agreed Darcy. He though her bravery and consideration might be added to the list.

"Oh! Certainly," cried Miss Bingley, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually found. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word. And besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."

"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any." Miss Elizabeth said archly.

"Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?" Miss Bingley protested.

"I never saw such a woman, I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united."

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of Miss Elizabeth's implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Miss Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.

"Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, "is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own, and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."

"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, "there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."

Miss Bingley was not so satisfied with this reply as to continue the subject.


	13. Chapter 13

Alan Dash sat in his small room, listening to the argument raging outside his door and wondered, not for the first time since the Frenchman had arrived with his cohorts, if the decisions that had led to this point were the best he could have made.

Six months ago, Alan's father, called by all and sundry Old Dash, had fallen ill. Over the course of the summer the old man had mostly recovered. But it had brought Alan the realization that when his father did pass on, the lease on Triple Creek Freehold would expire and Alan would find himself homeless. As freeholds were crown properties, granted to ungifted men that had performed some extraordinary task for the crown, but only for a set number of generations. Old Dash's death would be the end of the three-generation grant and the land would return to crown control.

The unfairness in the system was like a bitter draught to the man that had given his life to the farm. It was more than labor he had given. No woman of worth would marry him as he had no future prospects, save begging for a tenant farm on some landowner's estate. He had always despised the laws that limited good men who were born wholly human. For most of his adult life he had been active in the Ordinary movement, marching and protesting. But after his father's illness, he knew he had to do more.

He met the Frenchman, LaFontaine, at a rally in London. The young émigré had invited the disaffected farmer to stay at his house. It was there that he had met others that felt it was time to do more than march and sing. The Ordinaries had to act. And LaFontaine had a special weapon that would strike terror into the hearts of the English ruling class.

Alan could never afterwards say if it was the revolutionary furor, the comely lasses, or the potent brandy, all of which were in plentiful supply at the Frenchman's salon, that most influenced his agreement to bring a band of what LaFontaine called ExtraOrdinaries to Triple Creek. Meryton seemed like a good place to start the revolution. So, as summer came to a close, LaFontaine and four fellow travelers arrived.

The Frenchman was the son of an aristocratic family who fled the French Revolution to come to Britain in 1792 when he was only seven years old. He dressed and acted the gentleman, and even had the gift necessary for him to bear the title legally, but was full of zeal against his own class both in France and in England. He saw the need for violence to effectively change the entrenched social system that punished or rewarded a man for the circumstances of his birth rather than the condition of his character. LaFontaine's very rare ability allowed him to temporarily instill gifts into those born without. This gift offered the opportunity to turn the tables on the entrenched establishment.

He brought with him Mansfield, Reilly, Jenny, and Fitz. All had been granted gifts in the past and were trained in their use, though they were without these abilities when they arrived. It was explained that they could only last for a few weeks and the group was not yet ready to act. The four ExtraOrdinaries were as different from each other as they were from Alan, or from LaFontaine. But each had their reason for wanting to bring down the giftocracy that repressed the working class.

Alan had spent weeks helping familiarize the group with the local area while informing them of the best targets to cause unrest. He pointed them particularly at the principle landowning families in the area – The Bennets, The Lucases, and The Gouldings. These were the families that had shunned his father and grandfather before them. They were the ones that had made him feel ashamed of his beloved home. And they were the ones who had spurned his interest in their precious daughters. Attacking these families would send a terrifying message to the gentry throughout the county and beyond. All men were equal. All men had rights. And gift or no gift, no man was above the judgement of his fellows.

A week into November, LaFontaine informed the team it was time to take action. He had specific intelligence on where and when two high value targets would be found alone and vulnerable. It was time for the team to receive their gifts and prepare for action. The transformation process was agonizing. It took a full day for Alan to recover. The Frenchman had agreed that the farmer would join the ExtraOrdinaries for this mission.

"Boy what're ye doing with these freaks and frogs?" Old Dash had asked after seeing how Mansfield now sported four extra arms. The former sergeant major was training his new limbs to load and fire muskets at a rate Alan had never imagined. The querulous old farmer was chomping on his favorite clay pile and brandishing his ever-present walking stick.

"Just shut yer gob, old man. This has nothing to do with you." The son had replied angrily. His own transformation had left him anxious and full of uncontrolled energy.

"It's my farm and I want them gone, ye hear me!" Old Dash began to pummel his son with the stick, as he had so many times before. Alan reacted with all his pent-up anger, knocking the stick from his father's hand and grabbing him by his frail throat. Electricity surged from Alan's hand at the contact, arcing into his father's head and chest. The old man danced to St. Vitus' tune as he died.

Alan looked down at the still smoking body of his progenitor and realized the Rubicon had been crossed. He could keep his father's death a secret for a short while. But as of this moment, they were all trespassing on crown land and Alan had no home.

Reilly, whose strength had been increased twenty-fold, helped Alan dig a grave. "I remember when I killed my old man. He had took to beating my mother one night after coming back from finding the traps empty. I didn't like it, and knew I was likely next, so I brained him with a shovel. Buried him with it too." He paused, leaning against the shovel, to fill Old Dash's pipe. The matches crumbled in his fingers. He gestured to Jenny Red. The flame-haired beauty sauntered over, every step an enticement to debauchery, and pointed her finger at the bowl. A flicker of flame shot out and soon the scrubby former poacher was happily puffing away.

He continued his tale with both Alan and Jenny now listening, ignoring the shrouded body at their feet. "I took over his lines and managed to feed my mother and brothers for three more years before getting caught."

"He escaped though," Jenny said proudly, patting the older man on the chest. "They's never been able to hold him more'n a month or two, right?"

"Never have, never will." He agreed.

"What about you?" Alan asked, just to hear her speak. Her voice was as enticing as her body. "Have you been in prison?"

Both of them looked at Alan silently for several heartbeats. He began to realize that was the wrong question to ask. Finally, she replied with a voice drained of all its earlier warmth. "I have been in one prison or another almost all my life. I was a prisoner of my mother's until I was old enough to be a scullery. I was a prisoner of the unjust system that lets a 'gentleman' order any serving girl to his bed and not call it rape. I was a prisoner to the procurer who bought me from my former master and the madam that kept me a whore in a two-bob market town. I was a prisoner until I carved my way free through the bloody flesh of the last 'gentleman' that rented my favors." Flame crawled up her hands and arms as she spoke. At the end, a corona surrounded her like the sun. "But now I am free, and the world is going to burn!" She let off a blast of fire that ignited a gate in the stone fence surrounding the herb garden.

Alan determined never to anger her again, possibly by never speaking to her again.

LaFontaine had left by this time. He had left very specific instruction on when and where they were to attack, but never said who their targets were. The two attacks were timed almost an hour apart, but on different sides of Meryton. They would have to move quickly and with great stealth to avoid being seen.

"I can run ahead if'n you'd like," Fitz offered. He looked like what he was, a scrawny street urchin with a whiskerless face and a high, reedy voice. His new gift let him move quickly and silently and Alan had seen him dance with his knives. He never thought of the boy as harmless.

"No. You stay with us." Mansfield barked. That was almost the only manner Alan had ever heard the old soldier speak. Years of raising his voice to be heard on battlefields and training grounds around the world had left him incapable of anything else.

"LaFontaine's information is always spot on. We need to be where he told us exactly on time." He checked the three watches he wore at various places on his body. Seeing his two eyes looking at separate timepieces simultaneously was disconcerting to say the least. "Now let's jog down to the two locations one more time. Proper planning prevents piss poor performance. And I don't want any of these bloody freaks leaving alive because of your piss poor performance, do I?"

On the day of the attacks, Dash joined his compatriots at the tree line at 11:15. It was raining steadily, but that did not delay them. They settled ourselves behind separate trees. Fitz was gnawing on a roasted rabbit that Reilly had poached from the Netherfield estate. The old poacher started to light his stolen pipe when Mansfield lashed out with one of his many arms, slapping the pipe away before he could get it lit. The stem snapped when it hit the tree. "No smoking, idjit! We don't want the target to see us."

At 11:28, according to the old sergeant's watches, a young woman on a palfrey rode out of the woods from the southwest. She had some sort of invisible shield raised that kept the rain from falling on her or the horse. Mansfield had two muskets at the ready, aiming each with one eye and a pair of hands, and third loaded in his spare hands. Alan could feel the lightning straining inside his body, ready to unleash on the rider. Jenny was fretting that the downpour might extinguish her flaming attack. Reilly and Fitz stood ready to charge out once the attack began as their gifts were not useful at range.

When the old soldier's whispered countdown reached zero, he, Alan, and Jenny unleashed their barrage. Both of the musket shots and Alan's lightning struck their target, while the jet of flame was washed away before it connected. Jane Bennet, for Alan had recognized the unobtainable beauty that had featured in his most lurid dreams from the first moment she exited the woods, cried out then fell silent in her saddle. The horse galloped away from the unexpected noises, removing their target before they could be certain of her death.

"After her?" Fitz asked.

"No, damme," Mansfild responded. "We barely have time to make the next rendezvous, and someone may have heard our shots. Move out!"

The next attack went off exactly as planned, though Alan was chagrined that his attack had struck the horse rather than the young prig riding him. Still he knew that the Young Mr. Goulding took immense pride in that hunter and would have been devastated had he survived its death.

Their next assignment was to be at main room of the Red Lion at 1:15 in the afternoon of the 14th, or so it said in the Frenchman's note. The current argument was over who, if anyone, should be on the inside while the others attacked from the outside. They did not know for certain who the target would be, but word was out that the Colonel and Mayor had planned a meeting of all the local landowners for that time and place to discuss the current crisis. If they played their cards right they could leave such death and devastation from which the county might never recover. Alan had pointed out that he was known and might be welcomed inside, then he left the room to allow Mansfield to make the decision. The old soldier was in tactical command, a fact that Jenny, Fitz, and Reilly had not fully acknowledged.

In the end, Mansfield decided that Alan and Fitz would be inside, while he would approach the troops outside while in uniform, but cloaked to hide his extra arms. He would get as close as possible while Jenny and Reilly would push a cart loaded with stone under a covering of straw.

When the soldiers finally attacked Mansfield, or he got close enough to fire, they would all attack. Those on the inside should attack the Colonel and his officers first, then the gentry. Reilly was to crash the cart through the wall of the inn if possible and Jenny to burn everything down. Mansfield would call the retreat, if necessary. If he was taken down, the rest would retreat and regroup at the farm.

As the morning of the 14th dawned, each of the five settled into what Alan recognized as their pre-battle rituals. His own seemed to be checking on everything in the farm. A familiar task but bittersweet as he knew this was likely the last time he would ever be there as, win or lose, it was no longer his home.


	14. Chapter 14

Elizabeth found that Jane was somewhat better in the morning. She was well enough to answer Elizabeth's questions about the attack. "Oh Jane, I'm so thankful you are going to be well. We were all so worried.

"I'm very sorry to have caused such concern. Perhaps I should have taken the carriage after all." Elizabeth smiled at her sister's attempt at humor. It was out of character for Jane, which her sister took as an indication that she was not yet herself. "Please offer Miss Bingley my appreciation for her hospitality."

"I rather think that your gratitude might be better offered to your Mr. Bingley."

"Please, Lizzy. He's not _my_ Mr. Bingley."

"With his constant inquiries after your health and his attention to all things that might offer you comfort, I think he might well be. While he offers me every appropriate civility, it is you who seems to be continually on his mind."

"Oh, Lizzy."

"Are you feeling up to answering a few questions?"

"I can try."

"Do you remember anything about what happened to you?" Elizabeth took her sister's hand.

"Very little."

"Did you see who attacked you?"

"I saw nothing. I was riding from home and something hit me from the woods. It all occurred so fast."

After assuring her sister that her recovery was more important that her recollection, the two spent three quarters of an hour discussing the events of the prior few days. Then Jane pleaded fatigue and Elizabeth gently guided her back to sleep. After using her gift to regulate Jane's recovery, Elizabeth decided that she would rather take a stroll around the Park than join the superior sisters at the breakfast table.

On her stroll, she encountered a large hound who proved to be exceptionally friendly. She did feel somewhat chagrined when Mr. Darcy, upon landing from his patrol, caught her once again behaving in a completely improper manner. She found him staring at her with a disagreeable, disdainful smirk.

"Mr. Darcy," she offered a curtsy.

"Miss Elizabeth," he bowed. "May I ask after your sister's health?"

"She was well enough this morning that I was able to ask after her recollections of the attack. Unfortunately, she saw nothing that may help our investigation."

"I am glad to hear she is recovering."

"Have you been patrolling? Did you find anything?"

"I was, and I did not."

"I am uncertain whether you are disappointed or not."

"I am uncertain myself." He stood staring at Elizabeth until she began to stir in anxiety. "Have you breakfasted yet?"

"I have not."

"May I accompany you to the table?" He offered his arm and she took it, though she was not fully pleased to be in his company. It brought back to her how her feelings about the tall man were … unsettled.

His original insult and subsequent haughty behavior had fixed her opinion of him as a most disagreeable man. What she found difficult to accept was that his actions during the investigation; his diligence, perseverance, and bravery, intimated that there was more to him than his initial unfortunate impression. And Elizabeth was not sanguine about the prospect she would be forced to revise her opinion of him. But shared danger tended to foster good will even among the most reluctant comrades.

They entered the breakfast room to find the rest of the party already at table. Elizabeth noted that neither of Mr. Bingley's sisters seemed pleased to find her in company with Mr. Darcy. After her host's initial inquiries into Jane's health, the conversation at the table ground to a somewhat uncomfortable standstill.

Finally, Elizabeth attempted to kindle some sort of discourse. "Do I understand, Mr. Bingley, that you will be attending a meeting with your fellow magistrates and the militia officers?"

"Indeed. The Colonel has invited us for a luncheon and discussion at the Red Lion at one o'clock. His letter said his hope was that we could determine possible protocols for securing the neighborhood until the assassins are found. I wonder if there will be an effort at standing up any sort of more official patrol or constabulary."

"Surely he's not proposing some sort of police force," expostulated Mr. Hurst with more vigor than Elizabeth had yet seen him display on any subject but cards. "There's no place for rummy French notions like that in this man's England!"

"Nothing like that, I assure you," Mr. Bingley placated. "But I do think there might be some benefit to considering more coordination between the militia and the magistrates to prevent such tragedies." He turned to Elizabeth. "Do you know the number of gifted in the area that might be of use in such patrolling?

"Not all gifts lend themselves to such plebeian tasks," Miss Bingley interjected. "Many are better suited to more refined pursuits."

Elizabeth felt both the sting of the barb directed at her, as her father's sheriff, and amusement at the consideration of whether Miss Bingley realized she had slighted Mr. Darcy and her brother with the same animadversion. "I must admit I am uncertain of the total number. There are upwards of a hundred gifted individuals in the area, and that does not include the militia or any other visitors. But as Miss Bingley so rightly points out, not all gifts are appropriate for protective duties. Of those the number may not be large."

Another awkward silence descended on the table. Elizabeth noted that once again Mr. Darcy was gazing at her in a most disconcerting fashion. She wondered what she had said to earn his disapprobation this time.

"Will you be joining us at the meeting?" Mr. Bingley asked, looking between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. "I feel it would be beneficial for you to be in attendance, as you are the principal investigators of the attacks. Any information you could provide on your efforts to date would be most illuminating."

"We will make every effort to be there," Mr. Darcy replied, committing both of them.

"How singular," Miss Bingley said. "Will it not be … discomfiting … to be the only lady at such a gathering, Miss Eliza? I would be most perturbed if I were to ever find myself alone in a chamber full of men."

"There are female landholders, Miss Bingley. My Aunt, Lady Catherine de Burgh, is one such." Mr. Darcy reminded her. "I am unaware of any in this neighborhood, but magisterial duties are not reserved to gentlemen alone."

"Not to mention the fact that I have known many of the gentlemen at the meeting all my life, most especially including my father, whom I believe your brother mentioned would be present." Elizabeth smiled. "I am certain my courage will rise to the occasion."

"Speaking of your father, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy turned to address her directly. "We should begin out sojourn to Longbourn if we wish his assistance this morning."

"Give me a moment for one last check on Jane and I will be ready."

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy traveled to her home by air. The gentleman had suggested they ride, but Elizabeth reminded him that she had not brought her habit. They agreed that a carriage would be too troublesome should they need to investigate another out of the way location and that walking, while perfectly pleasant on a normal day, was neither quick enough nor safe enough under the circumstances. Both kept a close lookout for trouble as they flew past Meryton and over fields and forests. Elizabeth was somewhat let down that the short flight proved uneventful.

Upon their arrival at Longbourn, Elizabeth was surrounded by feminine family members asking after Jane's health and the progress of the investigation.

"Jane is well, and our search is ongoing. I can tell you nothing more than that, at this time. But we hope that Father may be able to provide some new information from which we may find other avenues of inquiry." Elizabeth laid her hand on Mr. Darcy's sleeve and gently pulled him towards her father's sanctum.

Once inside she embraced her father. "Lizzy, it is good to see you so well. Tell me of Jane's recovery."

"We spoke just this morning. She is out of danger. She is tired still, but progressing better than I had anticipated." She stepped back and saw much of the tension drain from his countenance. She noticed the exhaustion in his features, but his eyes danced with excitement. She thought her father, once assured of his daughters' health, was relishing some part of the adventure in which he found himself enmeshed.

"So why have you come to see me then? Not that I am not pleased to see either or both of you. Especially when offering such relief to a worried father." He offered his hand and then a seat to Mr. Darcy.

Instead of sitting Mr. Darcy removed a wrapped package from his satchel. "We have found a few pieces of potential evidence at the scenes of the attacks." He carefully laid out the broken pipe, the bones, and the half dozen paper cartridges onto her father's desk. "Miss Elizabeth suggested that you might be able to sense something useful from these. Any information you can give us may prove helpful."

"In particular, we are looking for clues to the identity and location of the assailants," Elizabeth added.

"So, you are not having great success in your endeavors so far?"

"We cleaned out two nests of highwaymen yesterday, and recovered an abducted girl," Mr. Bennet drew in a sharp breath at Elizabeth's statements. "But we have yet to find the people who attacked Jane." She knew that it was somewhat cruel to remind him so directly of what was at stake, but Elizabeth knew that her father had a tendency towards both sloth and sarcasm. They could afford neither at the moment.

"Yes…well…" He blinked several times rapidly. "Let me see what I can see."

Mr. Bennet sat silently in his chair for several seconds, centering himself and calling on his gift. He reached out and touched a paper cartridge. His eyes glowed as he picked up the ragged wad and held it between his two palms. After a moment the glow diminished, and he set the paper down. "Nothing. Too new and no extended personal contact. Nothing to leave an impression."

He repeated the actions with each of the six cartridge remnants Darcy had collected. The results were identical. Next, he reached for the bones. As soon as his fingertips grazed them, he flinched. "No bones please. They are very unpleasant to touch."

Lastly, he gazed upon the broken remnants of the clay pipe. He leaned his head near and examined the artifacts without touching them. "This seems familiar, though I cannot place it. You see that this is not the sort of pipe most commonly smoked in this part of the country. Here you are more likely to find carved wood or corn cob. This sort of clay bowl is more common in Ireland or the western counties. I'm certain I have seen someone or other smoking such a pipe, but cannot recall who. Let's see what this beauty has to show us."

When he grasped the broken bowl his eyes once again glowed, and the glow persisted for several minutes. Finally, Mr. Bennet opened his eyes and addressed Elizabeth. "It's Old Dash."

"Who?" Mr. Darcy asked.

"Old Dash is a freeholder at Triple Creek Farm," Mr. Bennet informed them, "about three miles north-northwest of Meryton, somewhere off the Old North Road. I haven't been there in years. But I would occasionally see Old Dash, or his son, whose name escapes me at the moment, in town or at the market fairs. He always treasured this pipe. Seldom saw him without it."

"I think I remember him. Bald as an egg and big ears that always held up his hat?" Elizabeth strained to recall.

"The perspective a young girl brings to the world," Mr. Bennet smiled indulgently. "I couldn't distinguish anything more recent than last year sometime, but this was Old Dash's pipe."

"Thank you, Mr. Bennet," Mr. Darcy said. "Will you be attending the meeting at the Red Lion this afternoon?"

"I was intending to. Do you know of any reason I should not? Do you need me to lead you to Triple Creek?"

"No, Father. I'm sure I can find it if you show me on the map." Elizabeth pointed to the county map her father had framed on his wall. Quickly he showed them the location of the freehold. As the map was less than twenty years old, it was marked clearly.

"We should be off then," Mr. Darcy stated. "We will let you know what we find at the meeting."

"Take care." Her father took her hand for several seconds, then reluctantly released her.

Once again, they flew to their destination. Elizabeth was familiar with the landmarks, even from the air, and was able to navigate with ease. They found a concealed landing spot near the lane leading to the farm. They moved forward as stealthily as they could, all senses stretching towards the sprawling farmhouse and barns in the distance.

"I find no sign of human presence, though there is extensive evidence of the recent use of gifts." Elizabeth pointed towards the numerous trees and walls with scorch marks and electrical burns. There was also signs of extensive firearms training and several uprooted trees.

"We should stay alert nonetheless," Mr. Darcy cautioned. They took several minutes stalking the abode, only to find it empty of human life. Elizabeth was not able to hide her disappointment. "Whoever they are, we know that people with the same or similar gifts that were used in the attacks were here for an extended time. Perhaps, if we search, we might find some indication of where they have gone."

"It is nearing one o'clock. If we stay to search we may miss the meeting." Elizabeth pointed out.

"I feel this is more important. The meeting will likely last for some time. If we learn something useful we will be able to attend the end of the gathering and share it then."

"Agreed. Do you want outside or inside?"

"Lady's choice." Elizabeth chose to investigate the outbuildings and surrounding yards. She wanted to fix the scents of the scoundrels in her mind so that she could follow them should she ever encounter them in the future. As she searched she discerned there were at least six or seven distinct traces. She was certain one was a woman, but could tell little else. Two were older and more widespread. She assumed it was Old Dash and his son. The others were male and distinctive; one smelled strongly of tobacco and spirits, another of gunpowder and leather, a third of pomade and perfume, but she could no details on the last scent.

She next found something that saddened her, the recent shallow grave of Old Dash. Before she could return to the house with her news, Mr. Darcy sprinted through the door, a piece of paper clutched in his hand. "What is it?"

"They are going to attack the meeting. Bingley and your father, all of them, are in grave danger."


	15. Chapter 15

Alan sat in a chair at a table pressed against the wall of the saloon of the inn. He had been there for almost two hours. He had asked Henry, the publican, if he could stay there through lunch, as he had to meet someone about a horse at two o'clock. Henry told him of the big meeting scheduled to take up most of the room, but Alan convinced him that he and his jar and plate of mutton and mash would not take up too much space and he would keep his mouth shut when his betters were flannelling on. Finally, a few coins seemed to convince the owner that there was room enough for everyone.

As the room began to fill with the local gentry and the militia officers Alan took a last look around, trying to spot Fitz. He knew that with the sneak thief's gift of stealth, it would be almost impossible to find him, but he made a cursory examination, just to be sure. There was no sign. He hoped that mean the boy was in place and ready when the signal came, but he could not dwell on the possibilities of all that could go wrong with the plan.

He stiffened when Mr. Bennet entered, talking with Sir William. These were the two men he hated most in the world. The Mayor was born to an ordinary family, just as he had been. But somehow, he had contrived to be born with a gift. That raised him out of obscurity and limitation and set him above his peers. There was no reason that it should not have been Alan who was fated to join the ruling class. Alan despised the man for his luck.

Mr. Bennet owned the largest and most prosperous estate in the area, now that Mr. Sturbridge had been forced give up Netherfield after some subtle sabotage from Alan had decimated their flocks and stunted their crops. Worse, in Alan's opinion, were Bennet's daughters. They were beauties forever out of his reach and they had managed to protect his flocks and fields from his depredations. Alan hated the man for what he had.

Today he hoped to see them both dead at his feet.

Alan, as he had promised Henry, listened silently when the men, milling about the room in idle conversation, began to speak of the crisis they faced. He smiled inwardly as they discussed all the possible adversaries and their likely motives for the attacks. Colonel Forster was determined that the French were somehow behind the attacks. Sir William agreed it was a possibility, but felt it was more likely brigands, even though nothing was stolen. Alan had thought LaFontaine's instructions to strike only twice and to not loot the bodies had been too cautious. Instead he found the uncertainty had increased the disquiet among the populace.

When the church bell tolled the hour, the Colonel called the meeting to order. Henry and his staff took several minutes to see that every man was served food and fresh drink. When Mrs. Forster entered the room, the gentlemen surged to their feet.

"Darling! What brings you down? I thought you would be occupied in our chambers." The Colonel was gentle in his chiding instruction of his very young bride. Perhaps too gentle, as she did not seem to appreciate his censure.

"I felt, as your hostess, I should stop by to ensure that all our guests were satisfied." She walked to her husband and placed a dainty hand lightly on his arm. He smiled down at her, obviously besotted, and placed his hand over hers. She turned to the assembly. "I recognize your officers, of course, and Sir William. But I do not believe I am acquainted with the other gentlemen. Will you not introduce me, my love?"

"Of course," the Colonel acquiesced, "Gentlemen, may I introduce my wife to you? Harriet, please allow me to introduce Mr. Bingley of Netherfield Park, Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, Mr. Goulding of Haye-Park, and Mr. Harrington of Houndslough Hall, along with Mr. Jones and Mr. Watson from Meryton." They each bowed as they were named. Alan seethed inside. He was sure that his father would have been excluded from the introductions had he been in the room, even though he was more of a landholder than the apothecary or the postmaster.

"Pleased to meet you all." Her smile seemed to chase away the slight chill that had seeped into the room with the autumn wind. "Please let Mr. Owens know if you need anything. I hope your meeting is a product…"

Her welcome speech was cut off by the thunderous crash of a volley of gunfire sounding just outside the door of the inn. That was the signal. The sounds seemed to paralyze the men at the table. Alan took advantage of that and, standing in his corner, unleashed a bolt of lightning at the Colonel. It struck the soldier and arced to his pretty wife. Both collapsed into smoking piles. He looked for his next target.

It was obvious that Fitz had sprung from hiding. He stood between Captain Carter and Mr. Pratt, a dagger stuck into each man's back. Almost faster than the eye could follow, the boy spun towards his next targets. At that moment, the large front window, and the wall in which it was held, was smashed into the main saloon by the cart of stones propelled by Reilly.

This opened the view into the yard. Alan saw Mansfield, with a pistol in each of his six hands, firing into the platoon of militiamen standing guard in front of the inn. As each weapon was discharged, he threw it at an enemy and drew another from his harness. Alan had no notion how many pistols he carried, but he fair bristled with them. Jenny Red was living up to her name and burning everything in sight.

Alan refocused on the interior of the inn. His mission was to wreak havoc on the attendees. But before he could select his next target, he saw Mr. Bennet leveling an antique pistol at Fitz. The boy dodged the shot and advanced on the hated gentleman. Sir William reached out, his arms stretching across the table and his hands growing to the size of rain barrels. He managed to snag Fritz, cutting off all avenues of escape. Alan remembered he was part of the fight and sent a bolt at the giant hands entrapping his comrade. The shock caused Sir William to release his grasp enough for Fitz to slide free.

It was at that point in the fracas that the militia officers managed to throw off their shock enough to begin drawing weapons. Alan found himself facing a mix of guns and blades. Realizing that by positioning himself in the corner he may have given himself a field of fire that include the whole room; but he had also blocked any avenue of maneuver or retreat. He upended the thick oak table and sheltered behind it as several shots crashed into the makeshift barricade. He responded with an unaimed arc of electricity. A scream of pain sounded, revealing he had hit at least one unseen target.

He glanced outside and saw that Mansfield was charging into the midst of the soldiers firing at him. His plethora of both arms and weapons gave him the advantage in close quarters. Jenny seemed to be spreading her fire onto shops and houses in the area, causing panic in the general populace. Reilly seemed to be locked into a battle of gifted fisticuffs with Sir William, half in and half out of the saloon. Together, the two strongmen were causing more damage than the rest of the battle combined.

Alan unleashed another blast to push back the officers approaching with sabers. He heard the rapid fire of Mansfield's plethora of pistols suddenly silence. He desperately hoped that was just the sign he had finally run out of preloaded weapons and was moving on to his deadly blades. He had no time to look as Mr. Bennet had appeared at the end of the table, an aged cutlass in one hand and a wickedly curved dagger in the other, having taken advantage of the distraction of the officers to flank his position.

"You really should not have attacked my daughter, Dash. I've no idea why you did, but it was a grave mistake."

"No idea! You, who sit in your unearned estate, secured by a gift of chance, wonder that the honest men you and your freakish kind have repressed for centuries might rise up to overthrow your tyranny? Wake up Bennet! Your world is burning around you. And now it is your turn." Alan brought both hands to bear on the abomination. He released all his pent-up loathing and rage at the man. Only for Bennet to spin nimbly on his heels, slashing through one wrist with the cutlass then carrying through to pin Alan's other hand to the wall. The curved dagger spun around and carved through the former farmer's throat.

The last thing Alan saw as his world went dark was the satisfied snarl on his most hated enemy's face.


	16. Chapter 16

Darcey flew as quickly as he could towards the Red Lion. It was already after one o'clock which meant the attack might well already be underway. Darcy could tell from the evidence at the farm there were several well-trained attackers on the way to strike at the meeting, a convocation where there might be only two or three defenders that had ever seen any sort of combat. He was particularly worried about Bingley. While he had a potent gift, he had never been forced to use it in a life or death context.

He glanced to his left where Miss Elizbeth, with her sleek black wings, was doing her best to keep up with him. He might wish that she was doing less well at it than she was. He would rather he be in a position to ensure the situation was under control when she arrived; particularly as there was the possibility that her father might be injured, or worse. Darcy would protect her from that eventuality, if he could. He saw smoke rising in the distance and could hear the rolling cracks of multiple guns firing, but his view of the innyard was blocked by the building itself.

A mighty crash boomed. Darcy passed the inn and came into sight of the ongoing battle. A six-armed assailant was in the midst of the militia men, methodically firing and discarding a seemingly endless complement of pistols. A young woman was brandishing jets of flame that ignited everything they touched. And Sir William was engaging a small man in teamster's attire. It was their resounding blows that were creating such a tumult.

"I have the shooter. You stop the firebrand," Miss Elizabeth ordered as she banked towards the fray in the yard. Darcy almost called after her, but realized the flaming woman really was the greatest threat to the populous. He reached out and created a ball of gravity as powerful as he could and sent it to hover above the woman. Her flame jets began to curve upwards to be swallowed by the gravity well.

"Nooo.." She screamed. "You cannot stop me. I won't let you." She turned her flames on Darcy as he flew above her. He wanted her to concentrate her attacks in the air rather than towards the town. Her blasts were devoured by his all-consuming sphere.

While they stayed locked in this stalemate, Darcy saw from the corner of his eye Miss Elizabeth fold her wings and drop from the sky like a hunting raptor. She landed on the six-armed man, bearing him to the ground. The man lashed at her with blades and gun butts. She parried with suddenly sprouted claws.

Each time they clashed, the weapon with which he would attack flew from the hand holding it. She was slicing his wrists with each strike. After only a moment she was able to lay a hand on his head and he immediately collapsed. She barely managed to avoid the attacks of the militiamen before they realized their part of the battle was over.

Darcy was startled back to his own battle when the woman produced a pistol of her own and fired at him. The shot suffered the same fate as her flames, absorbed by his gravity construct. When she realized the futility of her continued attacks on him, she turned to flee, igniting the thatch roof of a dwelling near the edge of the town either in an attempt to distract him or just lost in her pyromania. Regardless, he had to put an end to her destruction.

He sent a pulse that slammed her into the ground and increased the gravity beneath her. She responded to her immobilization by unleashing her flames in all directions, triggering a conflagration that threatened to engulf the town. Darcy cursed to himself as he reversed the pull of gravity on her, sending her falling upwards at an ever-increasing velocity. He watched miserably as she left a flaming trail across the sky, like a daylight meteor. By the time she left the range of his control, he knew she was for too high to survive the eventual plummet to earth. He always regretted taking a life, but found killing women particularly distressing.

When he returned his attention to the battle, Darcy found it had culminated without him. Miss Elizabeth and Sir William stood over the unmoving form of the teamster. The militiamen had the dervish bound with chains and leather cords. Men, both civilian and military, were pouring out of the door of the inn. Darcy was relieved to see both Bingley and Mr. Bennet seemed none the worse of the experience, though their disheveled appearance led him to believe there had been more fighting inside.

"Lizzy!" Miss Elizabeth, upon hearing her father's call, raced into his arms. Their obvious affection made Darcy yearn for the warm embrace of both his dear departed father and his loving sister.

Bingley appeared to be searching the area for something, or someone. Darcy scanned with his enhanced vision, but saw nothing other than the devastation the attackers had left in their wake. Darcy landed next to him.

"Are you well?" the older man asked his friend.

"I am, though the same cannot be said for the Colonel … or his wife." Bingley replied in the most subdued voice Darcy had ever heard him use. "They were slaughtered, as were Carter and Pratt. I'm not sure about the others."

"How did this occur? I thought the assailants were here in the yard."

"There were at least two in the inn." He turned his haunted eyes to Darcy as if looking for an explanation. "One was a mere boy. He could not have been older than twelve. He should have been in the schoolroom, not sticking knives into good men … I think he got away. He moved fast and seemed to disappear in front of my eyes."

"So at least two inside? What happened to the other?"

"Mr. Bennet sliced him open. Bled him like a stag."

"I would not have thought he had it in him." Darcy mused. Much like his daughter, it seemed there was more to the scholar than was readily apparent. "If the Colonel is felled, who is in charge?"

Bingley looked around then turned lost eyes to his friend. "As Crown Magistrate, I think you may be."

Darcy squared his shoulders and nodded. "See if you can organize the townsfolk to put out the fires. I think the militia will be required to safeguard the prisoners and deal with the wounded. Is that Jones over there?"

"He was at the meeting."

"Thank you. Get going. The occupation will do you all good. And those fires need extinguishing before the whole town is lost." Bingley nodded and sped away.

Darcy approached Captain Hawthorne, who was already ordering men to gather the wounded. Jones was there, directing the staff of the inn to set up tables in the yard to lay the wounded upon. "Captain, is there anything you need? May I request that you work with Mr. Jones to treat those civilians that have sustained injuries, as well as your own men?"

"Of course. And Miss Elizabeth's assistance would be greatly appreciated, as well. We were not prepared for this volume of wounded in this supposedly safe posting."

"Miss Elizabeth has been actively involved in several stressful incidents in the past few days. Perhaps it would be best for …"

"… For her to continue to carry out her duty to the people of Meryton as long as she has the ability to do so? I agree completely Mr. Darcy." Miss Elizabeth's voice was strained, with exhaustion Darcy assumed, when she interrupted his discussion with the surgeon. "Shall I assist with triage, Captain, or should I begin to heal those most greatly injured?"

"If I might suggest. Alan Dash is grievously wounded in the inn," Mr. Bennet interjected. "As he was one of the attackers, and given that he has somehow developed a powerful gift in the last few months, it would behoove us to ensure he be brought into a condition to answer questions."

"You might have thought of that before you slit his throat, sir," chided Captain Hawthorne harshly. "There is little we can do for him, even if he still yet lives."

"Captain!" Darcy barked, drawing the surgeon's attention to Miss Elizabeth's horrified face.

"He had injured my daughter on my own land, not to mention killing your colonel and his wife. It would be providential if we have the opportunity to interrogate him, but allowing him to continue his murderous rampage when I had the opportunity to stop him was never an option, lost intelligence or not."

Darcy watched as Miss Elizabeth stood straighter and placed a hand on her father's arm. He looked at her and she nodded to him. The older man then turned back to the officer and apologized. "I beg your pardon, sir."

"No, sir. It is I that beg your pardon." The surgeon wiped at his face with his hand, smearing blood. "All I can claim is that the stress of the situation may have loosened my tongue where it would have been better if it had roused my brain." He turned to Miss Elizabeth. "If Mr. Jones can see to the transportation of the wounded and the coordination of supplies, I will perform the triage, while you stabilize those in most need. Our prisoners should be a priority as we need them alive for questioning."

"Indeed," she agreed. "We have to know if these are the only attackers or if there are others in the group that we have not encountered. This may not be over yet."

"With that in mind," Sir William approached the group, "We need to get patrols out on the road, especially as at least one blackguard got away. Captain, with the Colonel and Captain Carter gone, who is in command?"

"It should be Major Ryan, but he was invalided out just last week and has not yet been replaced. I suppose that would leave Mr. Denny as senior surviving officer."

"But aren't you a Captain?" asked Mr. Jones.

"Yes, but I am not a line officer. I cannot take command."

"Wonderful…" Sir William muttered. "I'll go speak with him. Perhaps he'll accept some advice from an old soldier."

"Sir William," Darcy stopped him. "If there are not enough officers, perhaps some of the local gentry can act as guides for the patrols, preferably in pairs or greater numbers."

"A capital idea, Mr. Darcy. Just capital."

"Now, let's see what we can learn from our prisoners." Darcy suggested to the Bennets.


	17. Chapter 17

Elizabeth was appalled by the destruction in the Red Lion. One wall was destroyed, opening the room to the cold November winds. Electrical burns and gun shots scarred the interior walls. Smashed furniture and crockery littered the floor. And the smell of blood and powder were all pervasive. She found several men and one woman laid out on tables or benches. Four were covered with sheets. She reached out with her senses, with the faint hope she might find a small spark of life she could fan. But there was nothing. She was tempted to lift the sheets to see their faces, but easily overcame the morbid impulse.

Turning to the bloodied body of the local farmer, she did find him holding onto his life by a thin thread. The bandage on his neck was all that was keeping him from spilling out the last of his life's essence onto the taproom floor. She laid her hands on him at his throat and chest and reached inside. She urged his neck to seal and his body to produce more blood to replace that which was lost. She also searched for the origin of his newfound gift and discovered an alien force at work inside him. She was certain she could remove it, but not sure she could do it without further damaging him. She was also reticent to remove the construct without studying it further. Someone had used a gift, similar in basic nature to hers, to create this construct. She could not help but wonder if she could do the same.

Once she had him stabilized, she ensured he would not awaken until she caused him to. "He would certainly benefit from more rest, but I can rouse him when you're ready for his interrogation." Elizabeth told her father and Mr. Darcy. "In the meanwhile, I'll work on the others."

She quickly ensured that the other prisoners – the six-armed man and the strongman – were both stable and comatose. Then she moved on to the myriad lacerations, contusions, fractures, and burns among the militiamen, the gentry, and the Meryton citizenry. She began to conserve her energy for the worst injured, letting Captain Hawthorne and Mr. Jones treat those in less danger of crippling impairment.

By the evening, she had treated more than twenty people. Several times she had to wipe tears from her cheek as she thought of all the losses suffered by the people of their peaceful neighborhood. Counting Jane, William Goulding, and very likely Old Dash as well; these villains were responsible for at least half a dozen deaths and more than two dozen casualties. It was the worst disaster she had ever experienced, though she knew it paled in comparison to any skirmish on the Peninsula. She glared at Alan Dash and hoped he had a good explanation for why he brought this tragedy to their home.

Eventually Elizabeth's father, who was taking a much more active role in this affair that she would have anticipated, came to her, along with Mr. Darcy, Sir William, Captain Hawthorne, and Mr. Denny.

"Is Dash well enough to question?" her father asked.

"He is. I can wake him when you are ready. But I might suggest removing him to a private parlor, both to spare the other wounded in the taprom the delights of a military interrogation, and to keep his answers secret from those you may want to compare his testimony to at a later time."

"Excellent suggestion," Mr. Denny agreed. "Very astute. I'll call a detail…"

"No need." Mr. Darcy gestured and the man in question floated towards the stairs. The others followed silently, although Elizabeth was very aware of the Lieutenant's flushed face. While Mr. Darcy possessed many more estimable qualities than she had originally attributed to him, he continued to display a selfish disdain of the feelings of others that made him often disagreeable in any sort of social situation.

Once they were settled into the private chamber with the farmer on a bench, he was bound in chains arranged to touch his skin in hopes of foiling any attempts he might make to attack with his electrical gift. The others spaced themselves around the room, weapons ready at hand. "Wake him, please." Mr. Darcy ordered.

Elizabeth complied, standing out of the prisoner's sight behind his back, ready to touch his skin to pacify him at need. She did not maintain contact with him to prevent the possibility he could shock her through her hand.

Dash jerked awake, eyes open and staring at Mr. Darcy. After a moment he attempted to move, only to find himself immobilized.

"I'll not be taken by the likes of you!" he shouted, then unleashed an omnidirectional lightning attack. The chains contained the energy for the most part, certainly well enough for Mr. Darcy to risk slapping the man's face, hard enough to knock a tooth free.

"I would rather you not do that again. You are wasting our time and causing yourself pain."

"I'll cause you pain, you freak. It's because of things like you that real men are repressed by the system. We have no control of all own lands or our own lives. But your time has come. Your end is near." He started ranting.

"It would seem from your polemical tirade, you've fallen with a particularly radical variety of Ordinaries." Mr. Bennet interjected. "I've known you most of your life, Dash, and your father for longer. This is not you. Someone led you into this."

Dash turned his heated glare on Elizabeth's father. "You have never known me. All I, or my father, have ever been to you is the butt of your jokes and the subject of warnings to your daughters of the sort of nulls to avoid wasting their attentions on. Yes, I follow the ordinary cause. But we have gone so much farther. We are ExtraOrdinaries and you bloody parasites no longer have the monopoly on power!"

Mr. Darcy backhanded the man. "Do not profane in this lady's presence.

"Who is we?" Mr. Denny demanded, his face thrust close to Dash's. "How did you get your gifts? How many of you are there? Where are you based? There is so much you are going to tell us. How much pain you put yourself through before you do is entirely your choice."

"I'll tell you nothing, puppy. I'm not even sure how I'm still alive after that monster sliced me like a Christmas goose. I've already shown I'm willing to die for the cause. I only want to know how many of you I can take with me!" He released his gift once more, electrifying the chains. Then he rolled off the bench and into Mr. Denny's legs. The electricity surged into the officer causing him to spasm violently, dropping his pistol, which fired into the floor.

Elizabeth steeled herself and grabbed Dash's face. Her arm jerked at the contact, but she did not let go. The connection was enough for her to plunge the villain back into an unconscious state. The flow of electricity ceased, and Mr. Denny collapsed to the floor. With a sigh Elizabeth reached down and ensured he was not too badly hurt. _We're running out of officers_ , she thought irreverently. "I don't know how to keep him conscious, but prevent him from using his electricity. Perhaps we could throw him in a tub. The water might contain him, as long as we stayed out of it."

"Not a bad idea. Certainly, worth a try in the future," said her father. "For now, I think we have all we are likely to get out of him without resorting to unpalatable methods."

"You mean torture?" Sir William said, shocked.

"That would certainly be unpalatable," her father replied. "But I meant engaging him in extended debate or feigned fraternization. Either is likely to take far more time than we have. But I do have one other idea we can try. Before we speak to the others, I'd like to examine all their effects. I may find something worthwhile."

Elizabeth watched as her father used his gift to examine the clothing, weapons, gear, and any personal possessions that the three prisoners had had on them. As he went through each item, he made notes. When Elizabeth realized that not only was he going to be at the task for some time, he was also not offering any preliminary findings while he worked, she left the inn to get some fresh air.

When she saw Mr. Bingley in the taproom she approached him. "Sir, how are you?"

"I cannot honestly say I know. I have never seen anything like …" He waved his hand to encompass the whole room and beyond. "In school and at Cambridge they train us to use our gifts in martial pursuits, supposedly to ready us for futures in the military or duty as magistrates. But it's really more of a game. And as you know, I am not fond of conflict, even social conflict. But this …" He looked lost. "I just don't know …"

Elizabeth thought too much time for contemplation was not good for the gentle man. At the moment, he needed some immediate occupation. She thought for a minute then asked, "Do you know if word has been sent to the homes of the men here at the meeting. I am talking about the local gentlemen, no the officers. I'm sure the army has procedures in place for that unfortunate eventuality. But my family, and yours, may have already had some word that something had gone wrong in Meryton, but not know of our survival and continued health."

Mr. Bingley looked dumfounded for a moment then said, "I don't think anyone has thought of that yet. But you're right. Our families must be going mad with worry. Have your father write a note to your mother and I'll deliver it. I can do the same for all the people here."

"My father is indisposed. But I will write. Why don't you suggest the same to the other gentlemen? As Sir William is also engaged, I'll pen a note for his daughter Charlotte explaining the events in short." She placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you for your willingness to do this. You'll bring a great deal of relief to the neighborhood. But you must be very careful. We cannot be certain that it is entirely safe."

"I will be very careful. The militia has patrols out already. They may even be spreading the word. But I can deliver these notes and offer more comfort. Thank you for thinking of this. You may have saved my sanity, what little I still have."

More than an hour later, her father and the other gentlemen came into the saloon. They looked grim. "What did you discover?" she asked her father.

"Enough to know that we should send a full report an old comrade in London. He'll need this information, and can likely find out more from our captives than we ever will."

"To whom?"

"To Mr. William Wickham in London," Mr. Bennet replied. As an aside to Sir William and Mr. Darcy, whose face showed a strong distaste of something, her father added. "He's back at the Alien Office again."

"You're acquainted with the Superintendent of the Alien Office?" Mr. Darcy asked in what Elizabeth could tell was suppressed astonishment.

"We went to Oxford together," he stated, "among other things …" She was mildly astonished herself. It seemed her father had a whole history of which she was unaware.

"We also need to send a report to the Home Secretary and the Royal Magistrate, as this is something all crown magistrates need to be aware of as the unrest may not be limited to Hertfordshire," Mr. Darcy insisted. "I suggest we write them tonight and send them express in the morning."

"In the meanwhile, we can hold them in the gaol overnight." Sir William stated. "It might be best to reinforce my few bailiffs with some of your troopers, Mr. Denny."

"That sounds reasonable."

"Then, I think we are done here for the evening." Mr. Darcy suggested.

"Yes, and I think I shall enjoy my dinner and brandy this evening," Mr. Bennett said with a sigh. "And a good night's sleep. I am getting too old for these sorts of adventures. When I was younger perhaps, but definitely not now."

"Father, perhaps someday you'll tell me how you know Mr. Wickham of the Alien Office."

"Perhaps, daughter … perhaps." He kissed her forehead and finished. "Please take care of Jane, and of yourself. I will give your mother your love."

"I will, Father. You stay safe too. It is getting dark out and …"

"Don't worry about me. I'm not quite done yet." He waved, rested a hand on the cutlass that was so out of place strapped to his waist, and sauntered towards Longbourn.

"Would you like to follow him from the air?" asked Mr. Darcy very quietly.

"Yes, Thanks you. I would." He nodded, and Elizabeth could have sworn there was the merest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.


	18. Chapter 18

The first thing Miss Elizabeth did when she and Darcy arrived at Netherfield was to rush to her sister's room to assess her condition and progress. Darcy was relieved to see Bingley had returned from his mission of delivering the notes of reassurance to all the estates in the neighborhood. He was not sanguine that the danger had passed with the capture of the three miscreants. But it was Miss Bingley that demanded his immediate attention.

"Mr. Darcy! I am so relieved to see you safe. Surely, we should take advantage of your victory over those terrible men to leave this dreadful place and return to London. If I had any idea that country living would be so … dangerous, I should never have encouraged Charles to take a country house." She stopped for a moment, as she realized she might offend the great landowner. "That is to say, I should have insisted he take a property some place well regulated, with neighbors of quality, such as in Derbyshire, near Pemberley."

"While I believe my efforts to keep order near Pemberley have had some success, no place is completely proof against outside agitation or the depredations of a lunatic. Even London has enough dangers to require due diligence."

"I am glad this is over," Bingley said, evidence of the resilience of his optimistic outlook. "I think we should consider ways we might assist in our neighbor's recovery from this tragedy."

"That is a fine idea, Bingley. A very proper sort of attitude for a country landholder." Darcy wanted to encourage his friend's sense of responsibility to the welfare of not only his tenants, but his neighbors as well.

"But that means we are not leaving!" Miss Bingley displayed her pique at her suggestion being denied.

"I do not see how we can. If I flee from the country now, I would never be able to return." Bingley explained. "I might even be branded a craven. That would not aid in your plans to advance our prospects. If we are to be landed, we must accept, embrace even, the dangers and duties that come with the privileges and prerequisites."

"Charles!" Miss Bingley protested, cutting her eyes sharply towards Darcy. He assumed she was upset her brother had alluded to the poorly kept secret that she wanted to advance the family's status, just as her father had before them. "I … must see the cook. We have delayed dinner until your return, Mr. Darcy. I hope you will join us."

He considered for a moment. "I am afraid I must draft a report of the events of the last few days for the Royal Magistrate. It will likely take me all evening. I will just have a tray sent to my room."

"Very well," said Miss Bingley, her disappointment plain in her tone. "I wish you a good evening."

After she left Darcy turned to Bingley. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Anything, old man."

"You can reach London and return much more quickly than an express rider. I must ask if you would be willing to play messenger tomorrow. My report need to go to Sir Walter and Mr. Bennet has a report for Mr. William Wickham at the Alien Office."

"Wickham?" Bingley interrupted.

Darcy offered a grimace of distaste, "I believe the relation is very distant. Anyway, either man may have a response. I would much rather trust this task to you than to an unknown royal messenger."

"Of course. I'd be happy to go. I'll leave early and stop at Longbourn to collect his missive. I should be in London by nine o'clock. If all goes well, I'll be back by noon."

"Thank you. I have a feeling this may just be the beginning of something much larger and more terrible than we have yet seen." Darcy retired to his chamber.

The next morning Darcy, after seeing Bingley off on his mission, found Miss Elizabeth leaving the house dressed in the same style of sturdy attire she had worn during their recent adventures. "Good morning. Are you out for a patrol?"

"I feel I must. I have been neglecting my duties to Longbourn."

"I cannot say you have been negligent. These villains threatened your estate as much as all the others. As did the highwaymen, if less directly. Both your bravery and your accomplishments have been exceptional."

"I … I … Thank you." Darcy thought her maidenly blush was most becoming.

"Shall I accompany you?" he offered.

"I thank you, but no." She hesitated for a moment, then continued. "I must admit that I miss my solitary walks. I have been much in company these last days. It is different from being surrounded by my family, but no less …"

"Please. You have no need to justify yourself. I often find I miss my own patrols around Pemberley and the opportunity for quiet contemplation that they offer. I wish you a pleasant morning." He bowed and turned from her. He was surprised, and a little distressed, at how disappointing her refusal had been.

Bingley returned with word that the Alien Office would send agents to collect the prisoners for further interrogation. "I've informed Sir William, so he may have them prepared for transport. Sir Walter has decided to let the Alien Office have the lead in this issue. He feels it is more a matter of internal security than an immediate gifted threat. Though he stands ready to dispatch his forces if they are needed."

Darcy frowned. "It sounds more like politics, or personal enmity, than operational consideration driving that decision. I've heard that Sir Walter and Mr. Wickham are not the best of friends, but I hope it will not interfere with their professional conduct."

"Politics is a realm I have no desire to explore." Bingley grinned.

"You might consider it in the long run. You're personable enough to get elected."

"But then I would have to do the job. Please save me from my own likability. Now it is time to eat, I think. I have worked up quite the appetite."

That afternoon Mrs. Bennet arrived, accompanied by her two youngest daughters. They visited with Miss Bennet for some time than returned to the parlor, Miss Elizabeth in tow. Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.

"Indeed I have, Sir," was her answer. "She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness."

"Removed!" cried Bingley. "It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal."

"You may depend upon it, Madam," said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, "that Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us."

Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments. "I am sure," she added, "if it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very injured indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world. Which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her."

Darcy had no idea how to respond to such inappropriate censure of Miss Elizabeth. But before he could reply, Mrs. Bennet continued on a completely different tact.

"You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I hope, though you have but a short lease."

"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," Bingley quipped. "Therefore, if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."

"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you," said Miss Elizabeth.

"You begin to comprehend me, do you?" cried he, turning towards her.

"Oh, yes! I understand you perfectly."

"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful."

"It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."

"Lizzy," cried her mother, "remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home."

Darcy could see that even Bingley struggled to keep his countenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eye towards Darcy with a very expressive smile. Miss Elizabeth, seemingly for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother's thoughts, now asked her if she had made any other calls that day.

"Yes. We paid our respects at Haye-Park then visited Lucas Lodge. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, is not he? So much the man of fashion! So genteel and so easy! He has always something to say to everybody. That is my idea of good breeding. And those persons who fancy themselves very important and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter." Darcy felt her eyes upon him.

"Was Charlotte at home?"

"She was in the kitchen doing something about the mince pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work; my daughters are brought up differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain, but then she is our particular friend."

"She seems a very pleasant young woman," said Bingley.

"Oh dear, yes! But you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, one does not often see anybody better looking than Jane. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. Why when she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner's in town, so much in love with her, that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. Perhaps he thought her too young, he did not. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were."

"And thus ended his affection," said Miss Elizabeth impatiently. "There has been many an infatuation, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"

"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy.

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Darcy only smiled. After a short silence Mrs. Bennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was unaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be civil also, and say what the occasion required. She performed her part, indeed, without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her carriage.

Upon this signal, the youngest of her daughters put herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and the result of it was, that the youngest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.

"You did promise," the girl reminded. "It would be the most shameful thing in the world if you do not keep it."

"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement, and when your sister is recovered, you shall, name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill."

Lydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh! yes - it would be much better to wait till Jane was well."

Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Miss Elizabeth returned instantly to her sister's side. This left her own and her relations' behavior to be the targets of harsh remarks from Bingley's sisters. They seemed surprised that Darcy could not be prevailed on to join in their censure, in spite of all Miss Bingley's witticisms on _fine eyes_.

Instead he was contemplating the importance of family and the total unsuitability of the dangerously fascinating Miss Elizabeth's nearest connections.


	19. Chapter 19

Elizabeth had been mortified by her mother's behavior. It showed she still held her initial bad opinion of the gentleman, formed after his unfortunate behavior the Assembly. Elizabeth recalled how just that morning during her patrol, she had realized the extent to which her own opinion of Mr. Darcy had changed. But her extended amble through the woods between Netherfield and Longbourn had not brought her any closer to a resolution of her feelings for the gentleman. His compliments and attentions to her were both pronounced and confusing. However, his reticent reception of her family was vexing, if less objectionable than the superior sisters' thinly veiled contempt.

Jane woke in time for Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst to pay their daily pre-dinner call. They were surprisingly civil and only mentioned how glad they were that Jane had enjoyed the comfort of her mother's presence. Elizabeth took her evening meal in Jane's room and appraised her of the happenings of the past few days. Her sister was saddened by the deaths and injuries sustained during the attack. After a few hours, Jane drifted back into her healing sleep.

Elizabeth then joined the party in the drawing room. The loo table did not appear this evening. Instead, Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady either on his hand-writing, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in unison with her opinion of each.

"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"

He made no answer.

"You write uncommonly fast."

"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."

"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year! Letters of business too! How odious I should think them!"

"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours."

"Pray tell your sister that I long to see her."

"I have already told her so once, by your desire."

"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."

"Thank you. But I always mend my own."

"How can you contrive to write so evenly?"

He was silent.

"Speaking of letters," Miss Bingley started, in what Elizabeth saw as another attempt to gain the room's attention, or at least one occupant's consideration, "I have just this morning received a missive from Miss Grantley. In it she shares the latest from the Coterie. Lord Alvanley plans to put forward a bill that will forbid public disclosure of any person's gift, once it has been verified to exist by a panel of three augers. In essence, he proposes to end the vulgar practice of so-called gift blowing. I must say I heartily approve of the idea. It is gifts that separate us from the others, but all gifted _are_ gifted. No one really needs know more."

"Lord Alvanley is a fool." Mr. Darcy's blunt statement surprised Elizabeth. If the famous dandy ever heard of it, such an insult could engender a duel. "There are gentlemen that make me think that mere possession of a gift is not a good enough reason to have a voice in government. The good Baron is a prime example. He flaunts his position, while fulfilling none of the accompanying duties. It is not a matter of disclosure or secrecy, it's how you use your gifts – gifts given by the creator, that is important. It's how you help your fellow man with whatever gifts, or other abilities, you have. Something I think our Lord Alvanley knows nothing about."

Miss Bingley looked like this was not the sort of attention she was seeking and immediately changed the subject.

As the evening progressed Mr. Darcy applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the piano-forte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the way, which she politely and more earnestly refused, the hostess seated herself.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great man; and yet his behavior had hinted that she may have somehow gained his approbation. She was certain that it could not be a serious inclination. She felt she should behave in such a way as to assure him she had no expectations of him, nor was she willing to pursue any sort of improper affair, should he feel her so far beneath him as to forgo the protections of propriety. She did not think him so lost to decency, but she had heard tales of how great men sometimes treated poor country maidens.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the fare with a lively Scotch air. Soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near Elizabeth, said to her "Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Elizabeth, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, sounding surprised at her silence.

"Oh!" said she, "I heard you before. But I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say yes that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste in activities, as you have said before that you dislike dancing. But I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all. Now despise me if you dare."

"Indeed, I do not dare." With the same hint of a smile she had though she had seen before.

Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him with her refusal, was amazed at his gallantry.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected, enough to be jealous; and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane received some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.

The next morning a uniformed messenger brought an urgent communique from Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth saw him open it then blanch. She walked to his side. "What has happened?"

"It is from Mr. Denny, and Sir William. Last evening a group of men with identifying papers from the Alien Office arrived and removed the prisoners."

"That was expected, was it not?"

He nodded and continued. "This morning, another group of agents, also bearing warrants from the Alien Office arrived to collect the prisoners. They assure Sir William that no other group was sent. He asks that we come meet with them. Your father will be joining us."

"I'll be ready in just a moment."

"I'll collect Charles. He was at the Alien Office two days ago. He may be able to shed some light on the situation."

The three left Netherfield in a carriage. They arrived at the Mayor's office to find Mr. Bennet had preceded them. Elizabeth greeted her father in a subdued manner. The morning did not promise to deliver good tidings.

"Thank you for coming." Sir William looked a decade older than she had ever seen him. "We must determine who our current guests are. And, if they are the legitimate agents of the Alien Office, we need to identify who the men that took the prisoners last night were. Have you any suggestions for establishing their _bone fides_?"

Mr. Bingley stepped to the door to the chamber where the men in question were waiting. He nodded to one in obvious recognition then turned to the room. "I saw this gentleman in Mr. Wickham's office just yesterday, though I will admit his name escapes me completely."

"We were not introduced, Mr. Bingley." The man who walked into the room was dressed for travel with a driving cloak boasting a plethora of capes and dusty, knee-high boots. "But we did meet, and Mr. Wickham did send me to transport your prisoners to London. Now I am told they are already gone. Perhaps you can explain this."

"May I see your papers, please?" Mr. Bennet asked. The still unnamed man silently handed them over. Her father smoothed them onto a table and examined each sheet closely. At one point he nodded his head. He turned to Sir William. "Did the men who took the prisoners leave any papers?"

Frowning, Sir William pulled a packet out of a cubby on the wall and handed it over. Mr. Bennet examined it just as closely as he had the previous papers.

"These are forgeries." He pointed to the second packet. "Very good ones, but they were created by a Frenchman." He pointed to the first papers. "This has Wickham's signature."

"I don't see a signature from him." Sir William said, searching the document more closely.

"It is a mental signature." The others looked at her father in astonishment. "He knew I would be here and sent this for me."

"This is all very good, but now that you know who we are, we still have the question of what happened to our prisoners. What did you mean by a Frenchman, Mr. Bennet."

"The man who penned this warrant was from France. His task was exacting and demanded so much concentration as to infuse the paper with his mental essence. It is enough for me to detect the difference between an Englishman and a frog, but not enough to give me his face or name. I can tell he was working from an original document." He paused, then said more seriously. "It is very possible you have a traitor in your office."

At that moment a militiaman entered with a message for Mr. Denny. He read it and cursed.

"Mr. Denny, contain yourself. There is a lady present." Mr. Darcy barked. "What is amiss? If you can tell us without resorting to further profanity."

"My sincerest apologies, Miss Bennet." He offered a bow in her direction. "I sent a patrol to the Triple Creek Freehold, to determine if the escapee might had returned there. Instead they found the body of Alan Dash. He had been … forgive me … mistreated."

"The false agents?" Elizabeth posited. Several others nodded.

"It fits." Mr. Darcy added. "He was the newcomer to their ranks, thus likely the most vulnerable to turning on them."

"Or perhaps once they left the neighborhood, his usefulness was at an end." Mr. Bennet countered with uncharacteristic ruthlessness.

"So, they are gone." Sir William's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"Not yet." Elizabeth disagreed, garnering the attention of the room. "We know where they were fewer than twelve hours ago. It did not rain last night. Perhaps we can still pick up their trail and find them before they hit the Metropolis."

"Or the coast," interjected the nameless agent.

"Either way, we have to try."

"I agree. Miss Elizabeth, may Bingley and I accompany you. You and I have worked well together, and Bingley can act as our communication channel, as well as offering more support should the need arise." This caught the attention of the agent. He looked at Elizabeth in open appraisal.

"Thank you. I appreciate your assistance."

They sped to the freehold only to find a scene out of Dante's nightmares. Flames were everywhere. The squadron of militiamen were lying in burning pyres. Darcy sent the same gravity construct he had used in Meryton to start absorbing the flames. Bingley raced to begin moving the men from the pyres. Elizabeth moved to stabilize those she could. In the end, they were only able to save three young men.

They told the tale of how the redheaded young woman, surrounded in flames, came out of the sky and attacked them just after they had seen the messenger to the Lieutenant. Their description identified her as the same firebrand Mr. Darcy had fought in Meryton. It seemed she could fly. Worse, her flames destroyed any tracks the others may have left.

All but one of their enemies had gotten away.


	20. Chapter 20

Standing in the yard, Darcy reached to help Miss Elizabeth down from the carriage. Bingley had already hurried into the house to attend to some matter or other. Due to their travails at Triple Creek, both Darcy and Miss Elizabeth had ruined their gloves. When their bare hands touched, the young beauty drew in a quick breath. He was tall enough that her face was only just higher than his as she sat in the carriage. They locked eyes. Darcy realized at that moment that he had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed, that were it not for the inferiority of her situation and connections, he would be seriously contemplating marriage. And the look in her fine eyes held an intensity that made him certain she shared his fascination. His attraction to her was so strong, he realized he was in danger of leaning forward and claiming a kiss from her red lips.

But that would be wrong in so many ways. The impropriety was obvious. The damage to her reputation would be irreparable. And she would despise him for taking such advantage of her. Instead, he stepped back and gently guided her to the ground. He flattered himself that she was not unaffected by the incident, as she hurried past him into the house. He berated himself for his ungentlemanly behavior. He had frightened her, he was sure. And worse, he may have given rise to expectations that he was not willing to meet. He had to control himself better.

Miss Bennet was well enough to join them for dinner that evening. Bingley was completely captivated by the fragile creature. She, in turn seemed willing to be admired by him. After the meal they sat in the parlor.

"We are very appreciative of your hospitality," Miss Elizabeth addressed Bingley. "But we feel it is time for us to return to our home. I can continue Jane's treatment there and we can relieve you of the unenviable duty of hosting an invalid."

"Nonsense," Bingley objected. "With what happened today, it is too dangerous for you to make such a move."

"We were not planning on leaving just yet," Miss Bennet soothed. "If we may trespass one night longer, and you will lend us your carriage, we will return home after services tomorrow."

"Must you?" Miss Bingley said with some semblance of sincerity.

"As you pointed out, there are still dangers afoot. I need to return to Longbourn to protect my family. Jane needs my continued care. And …" she hesitated, "if we are not here, you have the flexibility you may need, should things turn for the worse."

"You are driven by tactical considerations?" Darcy questioned. He was concerned that his behavior at the carriage may have caused her so much apprehension that she was fleeing an uncomfortable situation.

"In part," she acknowledged. "But mostly we are driven by the fact that Jane's improvement has been more rapid than we might have anticipated, and we both miss our home. Your hospitality has been peerless. But home calls to the heart."

"Poetry, Miss Elizabeth?" Darcy asked.

"Your pardon, I meant no harm by it." Her smile was slight, but he saw it.

"Very well," Miss Bingley said. "If it must be, it must be. You will, of course be greatly missed Dearest Jane, and you as well Miss Eliza. You are welcome at Netherfield at any time."

"Of course, you will both be back for the ball," Bingley reminded them with great enthusiasm.

"Charles, are you seriously considering a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you fix on it, to consult the wishes of the present party. I am much mistaken if there are not some among us for whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."

"If you mean Darcy," cried her brother, "He may go to bed before it begins, if he chooses. But as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing. As soon as Cook has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards."

" _I_ should like balls infinitely better," Miss Bingley replied, "if they were carried on in a different manner. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the day." Her unsubtle glance in Darcy's direction informed the onlookers of whose sensibilities she was trying to usage.

"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball." Charles turned serious. "I had mentioned that I wanted to do something to assist our neighbors in their recovery. It is my hope that a ball can take their minds off their troubles and fears for at least one evening. It is not much, but it is a start."

"I think it is a lovely idea," said Miss Bennet. "I know those invited will spend many happy hours in anticipation and preparation. A joyous event to help drive away the sadness. You are most kind." Darcy stifled a chuckle at Bingley bright blush.

"Very well," Bingley said. "But your sister must first set the date. I encourage you to suggest she sets it soon.

For the rest of the evening Darcy kept his distance from the object of his interest. He watched her from across the room. Her insistence on leaving on the morrow, he thought, might be for the best as he was not certain he could contain himself if she was in such proximity for much longer. Knowing she was one floor away was too much of a temptation. He was constantly weighing her attractions; her wit, her fortitude, her loveliness, and her compassion against her defects; most particularly her atrocious family and her near penury. He needed her gone to give him the opportunity to gather his faculties into some semblance of order, so he might give her the consideration she deserved.

As he feigned reading a novel, he often caught her eyes on him from where she sat beside Miss Bennet, as she talked to Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. The clamor of his inner conflict drowned out whatever message she might be sending when their eyes locked. Time and again, he was the one to look away, until she stopped seeking him out. It was still early when Miss Elizabeth insisted her sister needed her rest and they quit the room. Darcy watched her go.

The next morning Darcy and Bingley were up before the dawn, armed for conflict. "You patrol the estate. I will fly further afield. But be careful. There are at least seven malefactors unaccounted for, with the possibility of an unknown number more."

"You take care as well. At least one of them owes you a bad turn."

"I will." Darcy took to the air. He wanted to assure himself the Misses Bennet's road home would be safe, so he flew over Longbourn. He found nothing, not even the expected encampment of the Strangefellows.

He landed where their wagons had been located for weeks. He saw the expected detritus and several signs that they had been there recently, but no longer. What was much more confusing were the tracks, which they had made no effort to disguise, led not to the nearby road, but deeper into the brush on the opposite side of the site. It was obvious there was not enough room between several of the trees for a wagon with the wheelbase evident from the tracks. He was puzzling how they might had accomplished the seemingly impossible task when a familiar voice called from above.

"Florence has a way with plants that occasionally defies explanation. I'd imagine you'll find the tracks disappear not far into the forest." Miss Elizabeth leapt from the high bough and landed lightly, absorbing the impact with bended knee. He was stunned by her feline grace. "But they did leave a note."

She held out a piece of parchment. He stepped back and gestured for her to continue. "No? It seemed you were particularly interested in this part of our land, or the former occupants, to draw you thus from Netherfield."

He suppressed the feelings of chagrin her rebuke engendered. He had trespassed on her estate to protect her. But he knew she would take greater offence should he admit the truth.

"It says the violence is anathema to their peaceable traditions, so they could no longer continue in the vicinity. They intend to avoid all settlements until they have left the blood and fire far behind."

She stalked towards him. "I comprehend that you are peerless in your powers. I recognize that you have national jurisdiction. I suspect that you came here this morning, without me, because you wished to render a service to my family or to offer us succor in our time of need. But you must understand this is my land, my family's. I welcome your assistance and I have relished our partnership these last days. But I will not be put aside. I will not let any man come between me and my responsibilities."

Darcy stood silent, facing the fury of his diminutive foil. She stood before him, arms akimbo, her eyes lit by the rising sun. Her chestnut locks blowing in the morning breeze. After a moment she shook her head and turned away. Time stretched, but eventually she turned to face him again.

"There is much still to be done. Can we continue to work together?" She offered him her hand, like a man.

"We can." He took her hand and shook it once.


	21. Chapter 21

As the carriage pulled away from the Church in Meryton, returning the two sisters once again to their home, Elizabeth pondered the last day's interactions with the tall gentleman that she finally realized had captured her heart. _Had he really almost kissed me?_ She mused, her gloved fingers brushing against her lips. _Did I want him to? If so, why did I run and hide from him?_ Then she recalled his reticent behavior in the parlor after dinner. Save for the one quip about poetry, almost an admission of a shared joke, he had hardly spoken to her for three full hours. The withdrawal of even the barest civilities confused her.

Then for him to so disregard her sensibilities and capabilities by patrolling her estate without her knowledge, much less her presence or permission, was demeaning to say the least. And all he did was stand there so stupidly silent when she confronted him. She could not make out his purpose at all. And she was no longer certain she cared to try. All she wanted was the familiar comforts of her home and her family's embrace. She leaned her head onto her sister's shoulder. Jane took hold of her arm and squeezed her silent support.

They were welcomed home not very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their leaving Netherfield so quickly. She was certain they could have stayed another week complete before decorum would have driven them home.

"You should have stayed. How can Mr. Bingley fall in love with Jane, if he is never to see her? And now there is no way to send her back. You must think more, Lizzy, before you take such decisions upon yourself.

"I must say _I_ am not displeased by your return," said their father. "Your absence has illustrated your importance in the family circle. The evening conversation had lost much of its animation, and almost all its sense, in your absence."

"Mr. Bennet!"

"How can you joke at a time like this, Father?" Elizabeth was shocked to find the reprimand was delivered by her youngest sister. Lydia was dressed in the black and grey of half mourning. "Captain Carter. Mr. Pratt. Colonel Forster. Harriet! Have you forgotten so quickly? She was my particular friend, barely older than me. And now she's gone. And … it … it was almost … Jane …" Lydia collapsed in tears.

The sisters all gathered around the youngest to offer what comfort that they could. Soon all were weeping. Elizabeth realized she had not shed any tears since the horrible events had begun. She had needed to be so strong for so many people. She desperately required the catharsis only sharing such grief and pain with loved ones could bring.

Later Mary came to Elizabeth with an anxious expression. "May I speak with you, Lizzy?"

"Certainly. Would you like to take a walk?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes moving to where their mother was sitting with Kitty, enraptured with the fashion illustrations in the latest _Lady's Magazine_.

"I think that would be very pleasant." Mary agreed with a nod. They both donned their heavy spencers and bonnets, as the day had grown cooler, though there was still no threat of snow. They walked arm in arm for several minutes, circling the Longbourn gardens. Elizabeth reached out with her gift to strengthen the plants in the gardens, helping them prepare for the winter.

"You're using your gift, aren't you?" Mary asked, breaking her sister's concentration.

"I'm sorry? I was thinking of something."

"You were using your gift, probably to improve the garden."

"I was."

"You do the same when you are walking the estate, don't you?"

"On most days. I think it helps."

"It does. Mr. Quint told me that between you and Jane, Longbourn's income has increased almost fifteen percent over all since you two started using your gifts to help the estate. This includes crop yields, the sheering, and beef sales. He said that expenses are down as well, between Jane helping with irrigation and drainage and you seeing to the health of the people and animals. He even said that he was able to raise rents for new tenants, not that there is much turnover, because of the benefits you bring the tenants and their farms."

"I … I had not realized the difference was that great."

"He claims it is an average of 300-400 pounds per annum. Something of an extra dowry that you and Jane can bring to a marriage, if you should marry an agriculturalist."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I wanted you to understand that I comprehend the value that a well-used gift can bring. That's not the reason I support the Ordinary cause. Nor is my own unfortunate affliction as a hollow. Though, to be honest, being your sister, and Jane's, is no easy thing for someone with no gift."

"I'm …"

"No. The reason I support the cause is that I feel that unlike you and Jane, so many gifted people ignore their responsibilities in favor of the privileges that their protected positions offer that the system no longer meets the needs of an evolving society."

"I have certainly seen that. Just as I have seen people's whose gifts do not lend themselves to the prosecution of magisterial duties."

"Exactly. What should a man like Mr. Harrington, whose gift is to know the exact weight of anything he touches, do to protect his tenants from banditry or the depredations of a ravening monster like the Coventry Wolf?"

"Just what he does. He cannot do it alone. So, he hires a good sheriff. He might also make arrangements with the militia or other landholders."

"And if the law allowed, and Mr. Harrington had no gift, could he not do the same? And would he not still have his knowledge and character that make him a successful landowner now, without the paltry gift he has?"

"I concede your point," Elizabeth agreed. "I am also cognizant of the plight of our Uncle Gardener and his associates. Men of character, wit, and fortune; in many cases greater fortunes than all but the wealthiest gentry; who are denied a voice in the government of the nation that their wealth supports and helps grow. But you know I share many of your thoughts and concerns on this. Why revisit it now?"

"I needed you to know that though I am vehemently in support of the Ordinary philosophy and the movement to increase the rights of the ungifted; I in no way countenance the abhorrent actions of the terrorists who claim to share my cause. What they did here in the last few days is anathema to me. You must believe that."

"It never occurred to me to doubt that, Mary."

"I would never hurt Jane, or you, or anyone."

"I know." Elizabeth drew her younger sister into an embrace. "Never fear that Jane or I might blame you for the actions of others. You are too good, and we know and trust in that goodness."

"I … I … just wanted you to know."

That evening Elizabeth went on another extended patrol. She searched the entire estate diligently for any sign of the escaped radicals. She saw a double line of uniformed men marching in formation east on the road to Meryton. She stood hidden in the woods by the crossroads where the St. Alban Road passed the lane to Longbourn Village. Their uniforms marked them as from the same Derbyshire Militia as was currently headquartered in Meryton. Elizabeth assumed the replacement Colonel and Major were to be found among the officers riding in front of the column. She estimated there were enough men in the unit to almost double the number that had been billeted in the neighborhood, after their losses were taken in to account.

She paralleled their progress until they left the boundaries of Longbourn. She was concerned about that number of armed men moving around the countryside. The officers were all gentlemen, but the rank and file of a militia unit were often made up of the flotsam of a county's populous. Most troopers were farmer's sons and laborers, honest men for the most part, serving their country or just trying to make a living. But there were also a fair number of runaway apprentices, petty criminals, and riffraff from the towns and cities. Without strict leadership, they could be as much a danger to the neighborhood as the radicals and insurrectionists they were protecting against. _Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?_

After the last man had disappeared, she finished her inspection of the estate. Finding nothing else out of the ordinary, she turned towards her home. As she passed the candlelit houses in the village, she realized she had not made her usual round of visits to the tenants since Jane's attack. She determined that in the morning she would make several strategic stops at the homes of the most voluble of the gossips to listen to the latest _on dits_ , thus learning of the general state of the population and what their greatest concerns might be. She would also contact Mr. Quint, her father's steward, to find out where he thought she might do the most good.

Despite the ongoing threat and uncertainty, life must continue.


	22. Chapter 22

"I hope, my dear," said Mr. Bennet to his wife as they were at breakfast the next morning, "That you have ordered a good dinner today, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party."

"Who do you mean, my dear?" Mrs. Bennet queried. "I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in, and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home."

"The person of whom I speak, is a gentleman and a stranger."

Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. "A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure. Why Jane, you never dropped a word of this. You sly thing! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. But … good lord! How unlucky! There is not a bit of fish to be got today. Lydia, my love, ring the bell. I must speak to Hill, this moment."

"It is not Mr. Bingley," said her husband. "It is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life."

This roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and five daughters at once.

After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained. "About a month ago I received this letter, and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases."

"Oh! my dear," cried his wife, "I cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world that your estate should be entailed away from your own children. And I am sure if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about it."

Jane and Elizabeth attempted to explain to her the nature of an entail. They had often attempted it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason. "I still say it is bitterly cruel to settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favor of a man whom nobody cared anything about."

"It certainly is a most iniquitous affair," said Mr. Bennet. "And nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself."

"No, that I am sure I shall not be. I think it was very impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why could not he keep on quarrelling with you, as his father did before him?"

"I see," he hummed, as he once again perused the letter in question. "Then I shall spare you the bulk of his correspondence. The gist is that he was recently ordained, has a comfortable living in Kent, and … just listen … ' _I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence … the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate …_ _concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters …_ _my readiness to make them every possible amends … I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'nnight following._ " He set the letter down and removed his spectacles. "At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peacemaking gentleman."

"Well, if he is disposed to make our daughters any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him."

"Is he aware, do you think, of the disquiet the area has been suffering under?" Elizabeth asked. She assumed the coaches had continued their schedule, even with the violence of the radicals.

"I cannot say. But for my part, I would doubt it. From his letter he does not seem to be the sort of man that would willingly throw himself into a perilous situation."

"We shall have to do our best to reassure him." Jane offered. "After all, we have no reason to believe the danger has not ended, do we?"

"Perhaps he will be able to offer solace in our time of bereavement." Lydia's melancholy tone was most out of character for her. Their mother hurried to comfort her favorite daughter.

Mr. Collins was punctual in his arrival, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet, indeed, said little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself.

"You are welcome in this house, sir. I trust your journey was uneventful. The weather has been fine the last days, so that must have been a great relief to you. How were the roads?" Mrs. Bennets offered the polite common banalities.

"I was terribly distressed to hear of the recent violence that has plagued this region. On the coach I was informed by a man of great authority, none other than a Lieutenant Wickham of the War Office, that several dozen soldier, even officers, had been killed at a pitched battle in a nearby town. He said that even some local gentry had been attacked. I was all astonishment. I have to ask myself if this is at all an appropriate place for a clergyman." Mr. Collins was a tall, heavy looking young man of five and twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal.

"I must tell you that the violence has even touched our own household." Mrs. Bennet commiserated. "But we are certain that the threat has ended, due in no small part to the valiant, if foolhardy, actions of Mr. Bennet."

"Can we not summon the Army to secure the neighborhood?" the Reverend asked.

"Just yesterday evening," interjected Elizabeth, "I saw another militia battalion march into Meryton, reinforcement for the battalion already in place. I'm sure it will not be long before the new Colonel has patrols spread throughout this part of the county. The primary reason these miscreants have been so troublesome is because there are so few they can disappear in to the wilderness. Once they are found, they will be stopped."

It took some time, but Mr. Collins eventually let himself be convinced it was safe for him to stay. At that point he divested himself of his travelling attire and allowed himself to be led in to the parlor. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters,

"I have heard so many fulsome reports of their beauty. But in this instance, fame has fallen short of the truth." He added, "I have no doubt that you shall be seeing them all, in due time, well disposed of in marriage." This gallantry was not much to the taste of most of his audience.

Mrs. Bennet who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily. "You are very kind, sir, I am sure. And I wish with all my heart it may prove so; else they will be destitute. Things are settled so oddly."

"You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate."

"Ah, sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you. For such things, I know, are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed."

"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins … and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are better acquainted …"

That evening at dinner, the girls found they were not the only objects of Mr. Collins's admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture were examined and praised. His commendation of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet's heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The dinner too, in its turn, was highly admired. He begged to know to which of his fair cousins, the excellence of its cookery was owing. But here he was set right by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologize for about a quarter of an hour.

During dinner Elizabeth's father led the conversation to Mr. Collin's patroness and how the rector spent time amusing himself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments that he might adapt to ordinary occasions. Elizabeth was certain that Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as she knew her father had hoped, and he listened to visitor with the keenest enjoyment.

After dinner, Elizabeth and her father left the rest of the family in the drawing room while they strolled into Meryton. He had a received an invitation form the new militia commander, Colonel Glover. He was gathering the principals involved in the events of the last few days. But rather than risking another attack, they were to gather in the middle of the fortified bivouac the militia had been hurriedly preparing since the attack on the Red Lion. Sentries checked their names against a prepared list before allowing them inside the stockade walls. Platoons of musket armed men stood ready or marched patrol inside the camp.

"Do you think these precautions would reassure our new cousin," asked her father, "or send him running back to the comfort of Lady Catherine's protection?"

"I think you should refrain from mocking your heir in public," Elizabeth chided.

"Perhaps you're right."

They were welcomed into the command tent. There were a number of officers seated at a long, cloth covered table. Of those officers, Elizabeth recognized only Mr. Denny and Captain Hawthorne. On the other side were Sir William, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and seats for Elizabeth and her father.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice. As we have no reason to believe that the militants have left the area, we need to create a coordinated response plan. I am Colonel Sir John Glover, formerly of the Life Guards." He held up the stump of his left arm. "But no more. Now, with the unfortunate demise of Colonel Forster, I am the senior battalion commander for the Derbyshire Militia. His is Major Stephen Francis, my second in command. You know Captain Denny," There was a quiet murmur at his promotion. "Beside him is Captain Cleveland, our senior company commander. Finally, we have my new adjutant, Mr. Wickham." He gestured to a man standing behind him, organizing a pile of folders. When he turned to face the table, Elizabeth felt a pulse of gravity propagate from Mr. Darcy, rattling dishes and papers. She turned to the man and saw his jaws clench and his hands close into fists.

She turned back to examine Mr. Wickham. What about this fellow so upset her taciturn friend? He was a very handsome man, with a fine countenance and a good figure displayed to advantage in his crisp regimentals. But Mr. Darcy was a person who could be overshadowed by no man. There had to be more to his reaction. Elizabeth decided she needed to know more about this newcomer.

"Mr. Wickham has just joined us from the War Office, where he is assigned as a liaison for this crisis." The Colonel was looking at the lieutenant with a gimlet eye. "Currently the message from Whitehall seems to be … Stop the terrorists. Find out how they got gifts, if at all possible. But stop them and any others that crop up … Are there any questions about those orders?" He looked around the table. Elizabeth was astonished that Mr. Bingley was to only one looking as out of place at this obviously military meeting as she felt.

"Then let us discuss the best ways to coordinate our patrols with the various magistrates, sheriffs, and bailiffs in the area. Sir William, as Chief Magistrate, I offer you the floor …"

It was a long, but ultimately productive meeting.


	23. Chapter 23

Darcy was incensed that the arch scoundrel Wickham had somehow managed to weasel his way onto the Colonel's staff. He was aware that his childhood companion had joined the militia several months ago, after the debacle in Ramsgate. He had even managed to convince his commander to post him to London, rather than serving with the rest of the unit. Darcy had hoped, with that move, he might have seen the last of the blackguard. But to have him here, now, was almost more than Darcy could bear. But there was a more immediate need, and a greater danger to be dealt with. So, Darcy kept his temper and participated in the organizational conference Sir John was leading.

The new Colonel was familiar to Darcy. Sir John was a baronet, with an estate in the far north of Derbyshire. He was some years older than Darcy, but not of his father's generation. They had once met at a house party near Buxton in '08. Glover, as he had not yet inherited the baronetcy, had been a major in the 7th Hussars and was preparing to sail for the Peninsula. Later Darcy had heard he had lost a hand in the fighting during the retreat to Corunna and had been shipped out with the other wounded before the actual battle. He was somewhat surprised to see him as a colonel of the militia only three years later. He assumed the militia was willing to accept his impairment in order to have access to his combat experience and formal training. At first glance the Colonel did not seem any happier to have Wickham on his staff than Darcy was. Perhaps the scoundrel's reputation in Derbyshire had reached the commander's ears.

"We have no flyers in the battalion," Major Francis stated. "It would be advantageous if we could field an aerial reconnaissance element. Sir William, how many fliers in the neighborhood might we be able to draft for this task? Equally important, have any of them nocturnal sensing gifts as well?"

"Hrmm…" the old soldier thought for a moment. "I have the register of gifts in my office, but I believe there are only four or five flyers in the neighborhood. And two of them are girls still in the nursery. We cannot use them. As for night sensing …"

"I believe I am the only person in the area with both of those abilities," Miss Elizabeth said.

"That's not quite true at this time," Darcy disagreed. "I too have those abilities. I'm sure we can coordinate with the other flyers to create a schedule for aerial patrols. However, given the numbers Sir William is positing, I do not think we will have enough people for proper coverage. So, the question is, which is the best use of our limited time and personnel? Miss Elizabeth and I likely have the two strongest, most versatile, gifts. We are also the most familiar with the investigation so far. Is having us tire ourselves out on constant patrols a more effective use of our time and abilities than leaving us to continue our investigations, or keeping us rested as a tactical reserve? While I am not under Sir John's command, I am willing to take his opinions under advisement."

"I appreciate your thoughtful consideration, Mr. Darcy." Miss Elizabeth's voice was carefully controlled. From plentiful practice, he was leaning to tell when he had offended her. This was another one of those times. "But, as you just pointed out with regards to the current command structure, nor am I under your orders. My Father and I will make those decisions for ourselves."

"I don't think Major Francis was suggesting that any of you place yourselves under our orders," Sir John placated. "And Mr. Darcy's questions about priorities are both insightful and entirely appropriate. We have limited resources and an enemy with unknown abilities and numbers."

"Five have been seen," Mr. Bennet began, "though the scraps of paper collected at Triple Creek before its destruction suggested the existence of at least one other person who was giving the Meryton cell their orders. The existence of the three faux-agents and the French forger suggest that this is part of a larger plot. It is possible that one of those four is the person giving the orders, but …"

"But?" Mr. Bingley urged impatiently, like a child waiting for the end of his bedtime story.

"But I doubt that he is. I think it more likely that there is a French spymaster in London running a network of agents, and recruiting dissatisfied, greedy, or compromised Englishmen with promises of new gifts and other, more traditional, inducements."

"More traditional inducements?" Captain Denny inquired.

"Money, revenge, women … begging your pardon, Miss Bennet … and favors are the most common." Captain Cleveland replied in an unfamiliar accent. Darcy thought it might be North American, though whether from the former colonies or from the Canadas he could not hazard a guess. "The likely recruitment of the younger Dash into the scheme supports the theory, as does the logistical difficulties behind the rescue of the other prisoners."

Sir John knocked his signet ring on the table to get the assembly's attention. "The whys behind it all are of no little interest to me and to many in the Capital, but our immediate need is to determine where the fugitives may be currently. I see two basic possibilities – they are either in the area or they are not. If they are not, they are no longer our immediate concern and all our efforts are likely to be an elaborate training exercise. But, if they are, then they are likely planning at least one more attack, and possibly several. Where might they be?"

People started offering up possibilities.

"Another farm, either with the permission of the residents or without."

"An abandoned or unoccupied dwelling."

"A cave or some other natural shelter."

"An inn, guest house, or some other hostel."

"They could be in disguise."

"They could have split up."

"They could have left the immediate area with plans to return for their next attack."

Once they felt they had exhausted the possible options, they started discussing how they might confirm or eliminate those alternatives. The militia had manpower and firepower. The local gentry had an intimate knowledge of the area. Darcy could offer suggestions based on experience, study, and logic. The balance of gifts was weighted in favor of finding the fugitives, without letting them know they had been found. The justification was that once found, greater strength could be concentrated before the radicals either attacked or fled again.

In order to make the best use of their strongest people, Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were separated, with Darcy partnered with Sir William and Captain Cleveland in leading the night searches and Miss Elizabeth acting as the local guide for Sir John's units, with Bingley's speed used to increase their effectiveness. Darcy was not certain, but the suspected that Wickham had something to do with separating Miss Elizabeth from him. The scoundrel was whispering to the Colonel throughout the discussion. At first, Sir John had been annoyed by the disturbances, but later seemed to be listening more to his new adjutant. Darcy was sure he had seen the snake's eyes rest hotly on Miss Elizabeth's face several times during the discussion. He had to warn her away from that man, before he did her some great injury.

"Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet, may I speak with you for a moment." Darcy asked as they were leaving the tent. "Someplace a bit more private than this."

"Is it urgent," Mr. Bennet inquired.

"No, but it is important." Darcy watched as the father and daughter spoke to each other without words.

"Very well." The father acquiesced. "You may either ride with us, though it is out of your way, or you may call upon us at Longbourn on the morrow."

"If you are agreeable, Bingley and I would accompany you this evening. You were particularly despised by Nash. Although he is gone, you may still be a special target."

"We do not need an escort. We are well able to protect ourselves, Mr. Darcy." Once again, he had managed to belittle the woman he respected above all others.

"This is not about that, I assure you." They were silent as they mounted and rode out of the encampment. Bingley started a conversation with Mr. Bennet about the drainage along their shared border. Miss Elizabeth did not join in. Some minutes later Darcy felt it was time.

"I asked to speak with you because I felt it imperative to warn you about Mr. Wickham." Darcy started.

"The Colonel's adjutant?" Mr. Bennet asked.

"That's him." Bingley's voice was unusually somber. "I must say I was shocked to see him there."

"No more than I, I can assure you," Darcy continued. "I must warn you in the strongest possible language, that blackguard is a liar, a thief, and a despoiler of young women. He is exactly the sort of man for whom gifts are not reason enough to justify the title of gentleman. You should protect yourself and your family and have nothing to do with him if at all possible."

"Those are very strong accusations." Miss Elizabeth sounded astounded.

"But true," Bingley confirmed. "I only knew him at Cambridge. He was a silver-tongued devil, whom you could not trust with your purse, your classwork, or your servants. He would take them all for his own and could talk his way out of any trouble that might come from his actions. Darcy has known him all his life and has been injured by him more than anyone."

"Not anyone." Darcy almost whispered.

"You need not share your own tale, sir," Mr. Bennet assured him. "I trust your word. And I thank you for your timely warning."

Darcy looked at Elizabeth and saw tears of sorrow and sympathy hanging on her lashes. He opened his heart and tried his best to share the years of pain and rage that man had cost him through his eyes. She swallowed and nodded speechlessly to him. He almost smiled at the thoughts that they seemed to trade in the silence between them. Recently it seemed that only one of them would be willing or able to speak at any given time. But this time the silence was filled of sympathy and solicitude rather than affront and anger.

He hoped that this silence was strong enough to build upon.


	24. Chapter 24

Elizabeth and her sisters, along with Mr. Collins, arrived at her Aunt and Uncle Phillips' house for a dinner party two day after meeting the new Colonel. They had been busy days, filled with meetings and patrols, with only limited time for familial obligations. She had been happy to be gone from the house and its visitor. Mr. Collins had made plain, if not explicit, his intention to marry a daughter of the family to make amends for the iniquity of inheriting the estate.

At first his attentions towards Jane were quite evident. But later, after a quick word about Jane's presumptive match with Mr. Bingley from their mother Elizabeth assumed, he turned his attentions towards her. Unfortunately for Mr. Collins, Elizabeth shared her father's opinion of the man. He was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been little assisted by either education or society. Plainly put, her cousin was absurd. He had made his interest perfectly clear during a family trip to Meryton the previous day. The sojourn led to an encounter with Mr. Bingley, which made both him and Jane happy, but was otherwise a painful reminder of what a permanent connection to the rector might entail. It was also during the trip that their cousin was invited the dinner party, which, after some consideration of the likely opinions of his patroness, Lady Catherine, on the matter, he decided to attend.

It turned out that both the local society of Meryton and the militia officers were represented equally at the _soirée_. Elizabeth was satisfied leaving Mr. Collins in the company of their hostess. She could already hear him trying to compliment her Aunt by comparing her furnishings and decorations unfavorably to Rosings, the home of Lady Catherine. Knowing what she did of the two interlocutors, she assumed that, at some point, a condition of mutual satisfaction, if not real understanding, would be reached. But she felt no need to stand and wait for the event to occur. Instead she steered a course through the crowd to her dear friend Charlotte Lucas.

Charlotte had been acting as an assistant to her while working with the militia patrols. For the most part, they were occupied as guides, helping the patrols find the obscure and out of the way locations in the area. Charlotte had inherited some portion of her father's near invulnerability, though not the accompanying strength or malleability. Her impenetrable skin meant she was at significantly less risk should her patrol be ambushed. And her father had taught her enough about firearms to make it safe for her to carry one if needed. "Charlotte, how was the patrol with Chamberlayne?"

"Uneventful. Which, I suppose is better than some alternatives. How is your cousin's visit progressing? He seems a pleasant enough man."

"He is a gracious guest, and most complimentary. Though I think he is somewhat concerned with the situation in which we all find ourselves. When Father suggested he might join in one of the patrols to meet his future neighbors and familiarize himself with the area, Mr. Collins suggested he might offer Mr. James assistance in seeing to the increased pastoral needs of the parish. He felt it might have much the same introductory effect and would be a better use of his talents."

"It is very generous of him to offer, Lizzy. He owes nothing to the neighborhood."

"You're correct of course," Elizabeth sighed. "It's just that …"

"Miss Bennet?" a smooth voice interrupted their conversation. Both ladies turned to find Mr. Wickham, in is fine regimentals, calling for her attention. At first Elizabeth was put out at his presumption, but as he continued, her mood shifted to a more receptive mode. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt. But I was wondering if I might impose upon you for a moment of your time."

"Mr. Wickham, Do you know my dear friend Miss Charlotte Lucas, Sir William's eldest."

The handsome militiaman bowed. "I had the honor of making her acquaintance just this afternoon. Perhaps we might retire to the settee." Again Elizabeth had a flash of annoyance at his slighting Charlotte, but it quickly faded. Her friend nodded to her as the officer led her away.

"Again I beg your pardon." He sat next to her on the seat, close enough for their dialogue to be most intimate. "I wished to speak to you about Mr. Darcy."

"Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes. May I inquire how long Mr. Darcy had been staying in the area?"

"About a month," said Elizabeth. "He has been visiting his friend Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park." Unwilling to let the subject drop, and interested in provoking the fellow to provide more information on their prior relationship, she decided to play on the fact that most of the militia were from the same county as Mr. Darcy. "He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand."

"Yes," replied Wickham. "His estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself … for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy."

Elizabeth could not but look surprised.

"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting the other evening."

A shadow of recollection fell over his face. "His father, Miss Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections of his father. While my childhood friend's behavior towards me has been scandalous; I believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father." His expression became less contemplative. "Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy? "

"I am somewhat acquainted with the gentleman," she temporized. "I would be very interested in hearing the opinions of someone with such an extended connection."

"I have no right to give my opinion," said Wickham. "I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and to well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial."

"Yet I feel you have something about the man that you wish to share."

"You have perhaps noticed how passionate Mr. Darcy may be about matters of the responsibilities of the gifted, and their role in society."

"I have heard him speak on the matter. His views might be considered orthodox, I believe."

"It would certainly seem so, at first," He looked in to her eyes and his voice seemed to seep in to her mind. "But I'd imagine, if you think back most carefully, you will recall him making statements that might hint at a more _un-_ orthodox viewpoint …"

Elizabeth found phrases spoken by Mr. Darcy that might be considered in such a light … _There are gentlemen that make me think that mere possession of a gift is not a good enough reason to have a voice in government … It's how you help your fellow man with whatever gifts, or other abilities, you have … He is exactly the sort of man for whom gifts alone are not enough to justify the title of gentleman_ …

"I can see from your eyes that you know of which I speak." He leaned in and lowered his voice. She unconsciously mirrored his actions, bring them almost into physical contact.

"Though his father, my godfather, was a most upright and traditional man, it was rumored at Cambridge that Mr. Darcy had rebelled against his progenitor's most proper strictures. It was even said he had fallen under the spell of a group of freethinkers and Ordinaries. It was widely claimed he had become almost a radical himself. I, of course, never believed it of him. But on occasion, over the years, even I have heard him make statements that have forced me to reconsider that stance."

"Surely you are not suggesting that Mr. Darcy is somehow involved in the attacks."

"Of course not," His voice soothed her. _How could she think that of the obviously sincere man in front of her_ , it seemed to ask. "It is just ill-luck on his part. A pitiable coincidence that these heinous attacks started so soon after his arrival in the area. Although, if things do go badly for him, he will have a hard time explaining that."

"I see what you mean," Elizabeth acknowledged.

Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighborhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter especially, with gentle but very intelligible gallantry.

"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society," he added, "which was my chief inducement to enter the Derbyshire militia. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession. I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now."

"Indeed!"

"Yes. The late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. As my godfather, he was excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it. But when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."

"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth, with a fair simulation of offended sensibilities. "But how could that be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did not you seek legal redress?"

"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honor could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short anything or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, but it was given to another man. I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of Darcy, to Darcy, perhaps too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me."

"This is quite shocking!"

"It is, but you will never hear it from me. Until I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose the son."

The blatant illogic and untruthfulness of the statement seemed to pierce the spell of credibility that the Lieutenant's silver tongue had cast during their conversation. Elizabeth could suddenly see the inconsistencies and hypocrisies in the man's tale of persecution. She reached out with her gift. The sense that made her an auger, one that could detect the presence and nature of another's gift, allowed her to see that Wickham's gift rested in his voice and mind. He possessed a preternatural charm. He could sense how best to sway people with his words. And those that hear him would be much more likely to be convinced of the merit and truthfulness of his special utterances. _A most subtle and diabolical gift_ , she thought, _if given to the wrong person_. And she firmly believed this scoundrel to be the sort of person that would use such a gift in the most despicable ways.

The whist party, which had held Mr. Collins attention so effectively for the early part of the evening soon afterwards broke up, the players dispersing around the rest of the party, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham. The usual inquiries as to his success at the game were made by the former. It had not been very great; he had lost every point. But when Elizabeth began to express her concern for his losses, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance, that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged she would not make herself uneasy.

"I know very well, cousin," said he, "that when persons sit down to a card table, they must take their chance of these things. And happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters."

Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice, "Is your relation very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh?"

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long."

"You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy."

"No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence until the day before yesterday."

"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates."

"Is he _that_ Mr. Darcy?" asked Mr. Collins. "I should introduce myself, just so I may assure him of the health and welfare of his Aunt and betrothed. He's not here tonight is he?"

This information made Elizabeth uneasy, as she was near certain of the warmth of her feelings for the man. If he were already engaged elsewhere, it might explain his reticence to acknowledge his obvious attraction to her. Vain and useless indeed would be all her affection for him, if he were already destined for another.


	25. Chapter 25

George Wickham was not enjoying the felicitous existence that he felt strongly he was due. And it had all started so well.

He was born lucky, blessed to be the first in his family to manifest a gift. And what a gift. He was a happy child brimming with beauty and charm. Everyone treated him like a prince. And he lived in a castle, or at least in very near proximity to one. His father was the Pemberley steward and the Squire was so fond of him as to become his godfather. He was a gentleman by law and education; effectively brother to the heir. Young Darcy was Georgie's plaything, who would do anything he asked.

When they started school together, Georgie discovered that almost everyone would do as he asked. Even the teachers could be bent to his whim, as long as he chose his words carefully, listening to the inner voice that told him what to say to get his way. It was an ideal existence. Then things started to change. Over time he noticed that people, Darcy in particular, were becoming more resistant to his charms. Not all people, only those who were around him the longest. By the fourth year, most of his year mates and his teachers accommodated his requests more out of habit than through actual persuasion.

This set the pattern for the rest of his education. He could convince new acquaintances of almost anything, but the longer someone interacted with him, the less effective his gift became. Darcy grew to be completely immune. In university, Georgie made many new friends among the scions of society and new conquests among the fairer sex. Certainly, he also made quite a few enemies among those men with strong wills and sharp wits. As he did not know who these men were before they had already taken offence from his harmless pranks and prevarications. The fact that one of these men was the Dean and one of the ladies was his niece led to the sudden end of his academic career, much to the disappointment of his father and godfather.

The years after leaving university were full of exploits and misadventures. Eventually Georgie's childhood truly came to an end with the death of his father, followed not long afterwards by the passing of his godfather. He knew it was time to put away the toys of childhood and pursue his future. For that he needed funds. Old Mr. Darcy had always intended him for a life in the Church. He had no interest in such an ecclesiastic existence and made a deal with Darcy to produce a tidy sum in return for signing away any rights to the promised living. While he initially convinced a solicitor to take him into training, his goal was to find and marry an heiress or at least a wealthy widow of independent means and no sons.

But time after time, he found that such women usually had some protector that was not above providing Georgie the most painful persuasion to move to a less defended prey. He also discovered that cards, horses, cocks, and dice were all completely immune to his gifts; though he was never convinced that, if he just kept trying, he would not find a way to make them obey his whims. These continued attempts cost him the rest of his inheritance and much more.

Two years before, when he heard the living at Kympton was vacant, he approached Darcy to claim what had been left him. The jackanapes had flat out refused him what his godfather had promised him. This left him with few choices. He took to the road. He found patrons and special friends to keep him in comfort, but eventually his welcome always seemed to run out. Eventually he realized little Georgie needed to return to where it all began and claim all that was meant to be his from the beginning. After all, the old man had loved him much more than that stick-in-the-mud Fitzwilliam. He had a plan. Lovely young Georgianna was a wealthy woman in her own right, but more importantly she was heir to all of the Darcy wealth, if anything should happen to his old friend.

Little Georgiana was a ripe for the plucking, as he had expected. He was one day away from having it all, when that damned dark cloud once again blotted out his bright future. That left him with no choice. He was seriously contemplating exploring the joys of an extended sea voyage, on the first ship he could find, before certain unsavory tipstaffs or bloodthirsty shylocks should find him. Instead it was a Frenchman.

"Mr. Wickham, my name is LaFontaine. I have acquired all of your outstanding debts, both legitimate and otherwise."

"That was very kind of you," Georgie offered, pitching his tone to reach his audience as only he could. Suddenly there was a pistol pointed at his nose.

"Don't speak. If I have need of your response you may nod yes or no. Do you understand?"

The suddenly silent man nodded enthusiastically to the pistol.

"In order to stay alive and free you will do a few … favors for me. First you will be accepting a commission in the Derbyshire militia."

Providing the Frenchman his favors had not proven too onerous at first. Rather than removing to the wilds of the Peak District, Lieutenant Georgie was posted to the War Office, as a liaison for his nominal home unit. While in the Horse Guards headquarters, he was able to make a number of new friends, mostly general officers. He listened as they poured out their woes and fears of the Tyrant's forces sweeping across the world and somehow crossing the Channel to Albion's pristine shores. They would even share with him their schemes to prevent such tragedies and to knock the Devil's Favorite back on his boney arse. These were exactly the sorts of things the Frenchman was most interested in. And as long as LaFontaine was happy, Georgie's life was quite pleasant.

Then he decided to send Georgie to some bucolic hinterland to gather intelligence on his militia compatriots.

"I want you to sow chaos and discord, but with subtlety and finesse. I am told there are two magistrates that are particularly troublesome to my compatriots. You are to separate them, if at all possible. You are to hamper the efficacy of the investigation and sabotage the effective resistance. And most importantly, you are to report to me about everything, every person, every word, every action. Do you understand?"

Georgie nodded enthusiastically.

When Georgie learned that that damned Darcy was one of the magistrates in question, he spent a quarter hour cursing continuously, without repeating himself more than twice. After the initial coordination meeting, Georgie had made sure to create the schedules in such a way as to separate Darcy and the delectable Miss Bennet. He smiled at the idea of a lady magistrate, though he supposed she was actually a sheriff, as her bookworm father was the official peacekeeper. He felt the best way to separate her from the usurper was to seduce her himself. It was a distasteful, tedious task, but he was willing to undertake it for the good of the nation.

The first meeting at the cit's soiree went just as planned. He could tell from her expression, before the foolish soul driver interrupted them, that she was thinking differently of Darcy. During the next few days he made an effort to place himself in proximity to Miss Bennet. He was not certain, but thought his efforts were progressing as well as could be expected with a country bumpkin still attached to her mother's leading strings. The constant presence of the pestilential parson was problematic. When he learned from the lady mushroom that Miss Magistrate's mother had her all but leg-shackled to the fool of a finger post, he decided to use that.

"Darcy, old boy," Georgie said after another all-hands meeting the one-winged colonel had called. Darcy had dark rings under his eyes from all the night patrols. Georgie had watched him watching the delectable Miss Next-in-line throughout the meeting. He thought he had something to make the usurper's ringed eyes red. "Do you not feel that all is as it should be?"

"What do you mean, Wickham? I do not have time for your thoughtless diversions. Say what you mean then leave me be."

"I was just wondering if you were as satisfied as I that Miss Elizabeth had made such a prudent match."

"Of what are you speaking?"

"Had you not heard? Her aunt was telling me that it is all but settled between her and her cousin the parson. He is the heir to Longbourn. She will be its mistress, allowing her to continue her care of the estate for decades to come. I cannot but feel she will be happy to stay at her home, for which she has such strong feelings."

Darcy left the tent without speaking. Georgie smiled.

Thinking of the parson, when next he saw the bumbling knight's ape-leader bringing back a patrol, Georgie decided to stir the pot a bit more. It was a long shot, but … "Miss Lucas, what do you think of Mr. Collins…"

The next day while working with the Colonel, Georgie was overheard muttering, "That makes no sense."

"What have you found, Mr. Wickham?"

"I'm sure it is nothing, sir."

"Out with it."

"Well … it's just that I was going over some notes from the original attacks and the Meryton battle …"

"And … Come on man, don't make me beat it out of you."

Releasing a heavy sigh, Georgie said "I could not help but notice that it was only days after the arrival of Mr. Darcy into the neighborhood that the initial attacks happened. It also seems odd that he led Miss Bennet into two different deadly battles that turned out to be false leads, before Mr. Bennet, over Mr. Darcy's objections from what I have heard, discovered the clue that lead them to the Dash's farm"

"I know all that, though when you put it in those terms it …" the Colonel shook his head. "What else?"

"As I said, I'm sure it might be nothing, but it struck me that Mr. Darcy, who is by all accounts, peerless in his powers … well, he let the fire-wielding woman go during the fight at Meryton. He basically ensured her escape, almost assisted in it by sending her away from the fight with his gravity gift."

"A mistake?"

"For someone with his experience and abilities, it seems like a very unlikely mistake, sir. Or so it occurred to me."

The Colonel turned back to his own papers with no further acknowledgement, though Georgie could see him thinking.

On the morning the 22nd, Georgie rode an hour and a half south to the outskirts of London to meet with his connections. "There will be a ball at Netherfield on the evening of the 26th. All of the local gentry will be in attendance, and a general invitation has gone out to all militia officers. Please pass the word."

"I have it, boy," snapped Mansfield. "Now go back to your tea party." Georgie would have put the grizzled old man in his place, but the six-armed soldier was looking far too handy with all those bayonets.

With colleagues like these was it any wonder that Georgie was not enjoying the felicitous existence that he felt strongly he was due?


	26. Chapter 26

The last week had been uncomfortable for Elizabeth. There were several causes for this ongoing, and increasing, distress. The most obvious was the steady rain that lasted most of the week. It made the necessary patrols most unpleasant. She could use her gift to ensure that neither she nor her compatriots suffered any illness due to the cold, late autumn precipitation. But nothing could make extended excursions in the downpour an experience to be relished. The continuing disappointment of finding no sign of their quarry just made the situation worse.

Unpleasant as the downpour was, the most distressing aspect of the situation was that her numerous patrols left her too much time for contemplation of the two men that plagued her current existence. Mr. Darcy was avoiding her, and Mr. Collins was pursuing. With the man from Derbyshire, it was difficult to discern if the avoidance was deliberate on his part, as the current patrol schedule had them slotted opposite each other. She guided many of the day patrols, while he was in charge of the night. But, there were meetings for reporting and planning where they were both in attendance. She recalled a discussion she had with Jane, just two evenings prior.

"I am certain of it," Elizabeth argued. "There can be no mistake. He barely said two words to me at the meeting, beyond his civil, if reserved, greeting."

"But have not you often commented that he is not a voluble man?" Jane asked, trying to put the situation in the best light. "I have always found him to be pleasant enough, if a little shy in company."

"He spent the night refusing to meet my eyes, like Lydia avoiding a scolding when she was a girl. I am loathe to lend credence to Mr. Wickham's assertion that Mr. Darcy might already be engaged. But …"

"If both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have warned us against this Wickham fellow, I think we should take anything he says about the others with some reservations."

"I agree. And even though I try to disregard Wickham's words, I began to fear that Mr. Darcy's avoidance is caused by hiss feeling of guilt for his emotional betrayal of his alleged fiancé, or by his shame over his indecorous behavior towards me."

"Has he offended you?" Jane asked, her hand on Elizabeth's arm.

"Not as such, but…"

"But you have feelings for him. And you think he may have feelings for you. If that is the case, then he cannot be engaged. As you thought, Mr. Wickham is not to be believed."

"But Mr. Collins confirmed the report." Elizabeth almost wailed. "And he has not even met Mr. Darcy yet. He can have little reason to deceive."

"Perhaps he is simply mistaken."

"It is a hopeless situation, Jane. And as long as Mr. Darcy is avoiding me, I cannot even apply to him for clarification."

"Not that you would ever think of confronting him with such a question. It would be most improper."

"And could lead to nothing but mortification for both of us, no matter the answer." The younger woman slammed her fist into her pillow. "It is all so frustrating."

"Does it pain you very much, dearest?"

"In truth, I cannot even say I know my own feelings. And I hate not knowing."

"What of Mr. Collins? Is he still pursuing you so diligently?" Jane asked, trying to draw a smile from her sister, knowing she shared their father's appreciation for the absurd, and his opinion of his heir.

Elizabeth did smile. "He is the opposite of Mr. Darcy in every way. While I cannot pin the one down to speak, I can hardly venture downstairs without encountering our cousin and being drawn into a long, if one-sided, discussion … on the beauties of Rosings, the possible future of Longbourn, or the merits of a certain modest parsonage in Kent. He has already asked me for the first two sets at the Netherfield Ball. I could not refuse, as much as would like to have done so."

"He is not a subtle man, but I believe he means to see to the future security of our family."

"I will give him that much, but must _I_ be the sacrifice on the altar of security? We are not so poor as to be without hope of ensuring comfortable futures without him."

"No, we are not. And you should never sacrifice your happiness."

"It is fortunate, then, that you are getting along so well with your Mr. Bingley. Your future happiness, at least, seems set."

"Lizzy!"

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humor. By the evening of the Netherfield Ball, she was ready to put aside her uncertainties and join in what she dearly hoped would be a most enjoyable diversion for all. She entered the drawing-room at Netherfield to find it full to near capacity, or perhaps a bit more. She could see officers and almost all the four and twenty families of which her mother had boasted some weeks ago. There were signs that tragedy had struck in the black armbands on the red coats and the muted colors some, like Lydia or Mr. James, exhibited in memory of the recently lost. But there was an air of gaiety, sounds of music and laughter floated on the breeze.

"My Dear Cousin, I trust you have remembered that you had given me the honor of the first two sets. I stand ready to oblige you when you are … er, ready." Mr. Collins seemed uncertain of the proper forms in this situation but, as the next set was about to begin, he held out his arm to her once Elizabeth had shed her cloak and hat.

"I thank you," Elizabeth replied, allowing herself to be led onto the floor. The first set brought a return of her earlier distress. It was a half hour of pure mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologized instead of attending to his steps, and often moved wrong without being aware of it. The experience gave her all the shame which a disagreeable partner can give. For all the misery of the first set, the second was infinitely worse.

It started much the same as the earlier set. Mr. Collins seemed to be more involved with ensuring that everyone had seen him in his finery and with a Flower of Hertfordshire on his arm, that with paying attention to his partner. Elizabeth felt it incumbent upon herself to begin some form of polite discourse.

"Do I recall correctly that you will be leaving us on Saturday?" She began when the movements brought them together. "I trust you've found Longbourn to be everything you may have hoped."

"Everything about my sojourn has surpassed my wildest imaginings. The only element I might desire had been different was the cruel necessity that has compelled your absence from home for so much of my stay. I must admit, I have cherished every moment we have had together."

"Please, Mr. Collins. You'll make me blush."

"Do I recall correctly that your gift encompasses both healing and the encouragement of crop growth?"

She looked nonplussed, then said, "Indeed."

"And you have been increasing the fertility of both the crops and the livestock on the estate for several years?"

"I have played a small role."

"Do you care for bees?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I must admit I have a small talent with apiculture and I was thinking that Longbourn might benefit, in the future of course, from the addition of several hives. And your gift has the potential to increase the yield even beyond my meager efforts." Mr. Collins was so enjoying his vision of a happy future, he had not realized how his voice was carrying across the dance floor.

In vain did Elizabeth endeavor to check the rapidity of her cousin's words, "Sir …"

"A lovely synergy. A symbol of our future." He rhapsodized, as if from his pulpit. Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy was looking at her with his stoniest countenance.

"Please, Mr. Collins! You are too precipitous!" She stopped in the middle of the floor, horrified at his statements and how they must be taken by any that heard them. "Excuse me, I suddenly feel faint. I believe I need to sit for a moment." She started for the edge of the room. A moment later her partner rushed after her and took her arm solicitously.

Elizabeth cast her eyes around the room, searching for Mr. Darcy. She had no idea what she wanted to say to him, but she had to say something. "Please, let me bring you a drink, some punch or lemonade?" Mr. Collins' service was neither desired nor needed, but anything that removed him from her proximity was blessing. She sent him on his errand of mercy.

Charlotte approached her friend, her face full of concern. "Are you well? It is most unusual for _you_ to suffer from dizziness."

"I was just suddenly overcome."

"Is … is there something you may wish to tell me, as your friend?"

"You heard what he was saying?"

"I'm afraid most of the room has heard what he said." Charlotte lowered he voice. "Do you not have an understanding? You mother has been speaking to all the neighborhood as if your match was a foregone conclusion."

"We do not, nor can I think I would ever agree to such an arrangement." Elizabeth was livid at her mother's indiscretion. "What am I going to do? Tell me Charlotte, whatever can I do?"

"Are your feelings … elsewhere engaged?"

"I … honestly I cannot say. I do not know myself anymore."

"Are any of your sisters interested in Mr. Collins?"

"What?"

"Your family has precedence with regards to Longbourn's future. But if none of you can bring yourself to settle for Mr. Collins, send him to me."

"What!" Elizabeth had to struggle to keep her voice quiet in her astonishment. She took her friend's arm and led her though a door to the terrace overlooking the garden behind the house. She turned to her friend and urged, "Tell me plainly what you mean."

"I am twenty-seven years old. If I do not marry soon, I will likely never marry and will remain a burden on my family. I am not romantic like you or Jane. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him could be as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state."

"So, you think we can simply pass him to you, like an umbrella?"

"No, but if you can … hint him in my direction, it would be better for all of us."

"Ah, there you are, cousin," Mr. Collins came through the door, two cups of lemonade in hand. "Ah, Miss Lucas. It was very kind of you to help my poor cousin to a breath of fresh air."

"Charlotte is always very kind. She has been an ideal partner these last years." Elizabeth said, truthfully.

The older woman blushed modestly. And the parson offered her a simpering smile.

"Here you are Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet came out the same door, "What are you doing out here? Oh! Mr. Collins! … and … and Charlotte? What …"

That is when the guns fired, and a jet of flame lit up the night.


	27. Chapter 27

Darcy heard Mr. Collins exclamations and could take them as nothing but a confirmation that the desired connection the neighborhood had been speaking of was now formalized. He could not bring himself to believe that Miss Elizabeth loved that man, but she did care deeply for Longbourn and its people. She must have accepted an arrangement that would please her family, while allowing her to maintain her care for the estate and tenants. Regardless of the reasons, it put an unhappy end to the internal dispute he had been suffering for weeks. He had no choice.

He fled the ball before the dance had ended. He had been intending on asking Miss Bennet to dance, in the hopes they might be able to recapture the friendly impertinence of their earlier interactions. But now he could not force himself to endure the agony of dancing with the woman he loved when she was promised to another. He left the house through the front door, ostensibly to check on the militia troops stationed near the gate. In truth he needed to be free of the cage that Netherfield had suddenly become. If he had no obligations holding him in the county he would have flung himself into the air and flown all the way to Pemberley, there to bury himself in balm of familiar places and his dear sister's arms.

The tall gentleman could see the bulk of the platoon split into three squads. One was guarding the gate. One was marching the perimeter of the cleared grounds. And one was posted in front of the house. The temporary command post was just off the lane, half way between the house and the gate. He stalked to the small brazier around which Captain Denny and his sergeants were clustered for warmth. A small marquee had been pitched to keep any rain or snow off the small table and several chairs that were more comfortable than Darcy felt was appropriate for an active guard post.

"Anything to report?" he asked brusquely. Captain Denny hesitated for a moment, looking at the civilian resentfully.

"Nothing yet, sir," answered an older man with sergeant's stipes. "But the night's young. The last guests arrived less'n an hour ago. If there's gonna be trouble, I wouldn't expect it 'til …"

A fusillade of gunfire poured from the woods to the west, most of which seemed to be aimed at the command post. The sergeant speaking was the first to fall. Darcy felt at least two balls hit him, but while they holed his evening clothes, they bounced off his dense skin. A round snapped the tent pole, bring the covering to the ground on top of the company commander. When another shot hit the brazier, knocking it over and scattering hot coals on the oiled cloth, flames danced up, spreading their light into the yard.

In the distance he saw a tree trunk fly out of the woods to strike the patrolling squad. Bright blades of light lanced out of the sky to cut down the squad in front of the house. A familiar flying woman poured flames onto the roof of the house, setting it ablaze. At the gate, men started to scream and fall.

The crown magistrate took to the sky, his eyes glowing as he adjusted his sight to brighten the night. He started sending pulses of gravity at the ExtraOrdinaries, knowing the gunmen would have to reload, giving the troops a moment to recover from the surprise, if he could keep the gifted assailants from pressing their advantage. He succeeded, as he became the focus of attacks from three sides.

# # # # #

When the gunshots sounded and the flame lit up the night, Elizabeth turned away from the sounds and began scanning the back gardens for the squad she knew was supposed to be patrolling. She found them under silent attack by the same six-armed man and several other men with blades and guns. As the attackers were avoiding firearms, it was obvious they were trying to be stealthy. She could see at least one of the attackers was able to use levitation to hold several of the troopers. She had no other indications of gifts among the attackers.

Thinking quickly, she turned to her cousin, "Mr. Collins," she hissed in a whisper, "I need your coat."

"What? What's going on?" she could hear the edge of panic in his voice.

"Your frock coat, it's black. I need it, now."

"Lizzy!" her mother squawked.

"I … I …what …" he stammered, his eyes getting wider as he perceived the chaos growing around him.

Elizabeth grabbed the shoulder of his coat and spun him out of it. "Take them and go inside," she commanded her friend. "Tell your father we are under attack from two sides. It is the ExtraOrdinaries. I'll try to hold them here."

She threw the black coat over her pale dress and vaulted over the balustrade. She alighted silently on the graveled pathway and bounded towards the attack, scooping up several stones as she ran. She stopped in the shadow of a topiary and flung the first projectile. It struck the apparent levitator.

Moving to the other side of the shrub she pelted another attacker. Unfortunately, this was enough to make a target of her. Several of the invaders decided to forgo stealth and fired muskets at her. She managed to avoid being hit, but she also had to trade concealment for speed as she moved in to their midst.

Her gift was usually limited to only effecting those she could touch. With some effort, she was able to force a connection at a distance. But the effects she could achieve were very limited. In this case, she cast out a field that caused those near her to suffer spasms in their limbs. It was not enough to disable them, but it threw off their aim, and in some cases caused them to drop their weapons.

"Fallback and regroup," she called to the troopers. While she was not one of their officers, she had been guiding them on patrols for two weeks. They were used to listening to her.

The six-armed man came at her, blades flashing. She found he had armored his wrists to prevent her previous method of disarming him. Instead, she managed to land a strike to his sternum, sending him flying back into the mass of his compatriots. Before they could untangle themselves, she had already disappeared into the night.

She had to keep them focused on her, while the troopers retreated and readied their counter attack. Or until reinforcements arrived from the house. She just hoped they hurried.

# # # # #

Charlotte rushed to her father through the milling crowd of panicking creatures who were so recently ladies and gentlemen enjoying an evening of fellowship and simple entertainments. "Father, Eliza is outside holding off an attack in the gardens. She says they are attacking elsewhere too. It is the ExtraOrdinaries."

"Colonel!" Sir William called out, pitching his voice to carry over the hubbub in the room. He knew he should have taken control, he was the familiar authority for their neighbors, but in battle he reverted to his early days as a subaltern and sought the orders of higher command. He saw Sir John coming out of the card room, his left sleeve pinned below his elbow.

"What is the situation?" the Colonel barked to his second in command, as Major Francis came from the other direction.

"Miss Eliza is in the gardens fighting an unknown number of ExtraOrdinaries," the Mayor responded. "She reports that there is a second attack. That is probably the origin of the sounds from the front yard."

"Darcy is out front," Captain Cleveland added. "Denney and several others are down, but we still have the numbers in front."

"The house is on fire," Bennet broke in. "We cannot stay here. We have to get the guests and servants away.

"On foot, in the night?" Mr. Collins demanded. "That's ridiculous."

"Feel free to stay, Reverend," Captain Cleveland laughed. "I hope you're fireproof; bullet proof as well, if they make it into range."

Sir William noticed that the crowd had stilled and were listening to the leaders of the community discussing their fate. Mr. James, the rector of the church in Meryton, joined the discussion. "I _am_ fireproof, and may be able to extinguish the blaze before it spreads. I'll go to it now."

"Good man,' the Colonel praised. "We need to split our forces to meet our different objectives. Mr. Bennet, you will lead the non-combatants out of a side exit and through the woods to Meryton. Major Francis, you will use your stealth to coordinate with our squads. Send the squad in the woods to protect the refugees. Have the other flank the enemies in the garden. Sir William, Mr. Bingley you go help Darcy out front. Cleveland and I are out back. Does everyone understand their orders?"

Sir William nodded along with the others. He turned to Charlotte, "Come with me." He led her to the closet in foyer, where the butler had stored the guests' coats and cloaks. He quickly found his and pulled the two small pistols he had in the pockets. "Your gift will protect you Take these and protect your mother and sister. You know how to use them."

"Yes, Father. Please be careful."

"And you. You're a good girl and I'm proud of you." He pushed her towards where Bennet was organizing the others. He smiled. As Mayor, that task probably should have fallen to him, but he admitted that he was relieved that his was a more straightforward endeavor. All he had to do was face the enemy in bloody battle. He had a lot of experience at that.

He ran towards the sound of the muskets.

# # # # #

William Collins made the mistake of glancing out a window overlooking the back garden. His gift allowed him eyesight closer to what a bee sees than most humans. Part of that was the ability to discern more details at a glance than most people could, as well as seeing better in low light situations. His quick glance out the window showed him a sight he would never forget. Cousin Elizabeth, his intended bride, was disemboweling a man with bestial talons sprouting from her gory fingertips. Everything about her, from her hunched posture to her snarling countenance to her torn and bloodstained raiment, gave such an impression of feral cruelty that all thought of her as a potential partner in service to Lady Catherine fell away.

"Mr. Collins," Miss Lucas called for his attention, then gently laid a hand on his arm. Without his coat, William could feel the warmth of her touch though his shirt sleeve. "We must join the others. There is an exit in the Breakfast room that is closest to the woods. This way, please."

"Thank you. Please, lead the way."

"Oh!" She handed him an overcoat. "This is my father's. Please wear it. It is cold out and you are without even your frock coat. I am afraid I was not able to procure your scarf or hat."

"This is most thoughtful of you, Miss Lucas. I am in your debt." William donned the coat and found it was a close fit. He ran his hand over the fine wool and smiled at the back of the knight's daughter.

"No! I will not go traipsing through the woods at night like a gypsy. Call for my carriage. I'm going home." The hostess, Miss Bingley, a most stylish and correct lady, was right in her declaration that the plan put forward by Sir John seemed most improper. William agreed that a carriage sounded much more the thing.

"Do as you will, good lady," Cousin Bennet said calmly. "But the grooms and drivers have fled, with the horses as the barns have been set ablaze." He pointed towards where they all could plainly see a flickering light over the hedge. William could only assume that was the direction of the stables, not having been to Netherfield before.

"If you believe your gifts, wealth, or position will protect you from these madmen," Cousin Mary chided, "I think you are in for a short, but profound, disappointment. But come. Remember the Bard … _he must needs go that the devil drives_."

"Or more cogently, remember your Tacitus … _He that fights and runs away, May turn and fight another day; But he that is in battle slain, Will never rise to fight again_." Cousin Bennet quoted as he moved people through the door. "It is our time to ensure the possibility of future battles."

As William made his way across the open space, he looked towards the sound of the battle in the front of the house, he spotted Cousin Jane, dark cloak wrapped around her shoulder trailing after Sir William and Mr. Bingley. He knew she was highly gifted, but hoped she knew what she was doing. Her example forced him to realize there was more he could be doing. He reached out with his gift as they moved. He found a hive not far into the woods and connected with the queen. He called the swarm and asked them to fly sentry, informing him of anything that threatened the column. They fed him flashes of what they saw in the night.

Miss Lucas had made her way to the lead. She had a pistol in hand. Her mother was glowing with a gentle light that made it easier for those near her to find their way. They did not realize that there were three armed men waiting in their path.


	28. Chapter 28

Elizabeth staggered as a shot creased her shoulder. This knocked her off balance, slowing her down enough that the levitator was able to capture her in his translucent grasp. She felt herself being lifted off the ground, her arms being stretched out to her sides. It was agony added to the pain from the musket ball. A short, squat man with a full black beard and a black slouch hat approached her. Small explosions were popping in his outstretched hand.

"Time to show pretty a good time. Bamber's got something special for ya," he crowed. Elizabeth wrenched her arms free of the transparent bonds, staggering the mentalist, and reached for the approaching attacker.

"Don't let her touch you, fool," the six-armed man pulled his comrade away and spun him towards the house. "The freaks are getting away!" Using another set of arms, he pointed towards the side of the house, where Elizabeth could see a line of guests and servants running from the house into the woods. She saw her mother and younger sisters and was relieved that they were moving towards safety.

"Bamber, blow the house, before they all get away. Do it!"

Elizabeth raced after the little man, but he put his hands behind him and released explosions that propelled him forward faster than she could grab him.

Sir John came over the balcony railing, riding a sheet of ice. He tried to grab Bamber, but the little man slid under his outstretched arm and touched the ice sheet. It exploded throwing the Colonel, and the Captain following him, off their feet. Elizabeth ran past them in pursuit of the human bomb. "Stop the others. I'll stop him."

She concentrated on her legs, feeling her muscles balloon. She leapt like a frog, soaring over her target. She stretched out to touch him, hoping to paralyze him before he could threaten the house. He rolled under her reach and slapped the paving stones beneath her. They exploded upwards in a geyser of sharp stone shards. The multitude of cuts that shredded her skin began sealing before they even began bleeding. But she was knocked back several yards.

She landed facing where Captain Cleveland and the Colonel were battling with the two radicals. The Canadian released a screech that manifested as a solid blast of sound that the six-armed assailant barely managed to dodge. Unfortunately, dodging did not take up all his attention and he was able to draw and throw two knives, One the Captain avoided, but the other sliced his throat in passing. He fell to his knees both hands trying to hold in his life's blood.

The Colonel was sending ice spears at the levitator, while the other man was throwing up translucent shields to block them. Their battle was oddly beautiful, though Elizabeth had no time to appreciate it properly. She turned back to her own quarry.

Using the cover of a wall of shrubs she raced parallel to him, managing to get between him and the house. Just before he reached the steps leading up to the balcony, he saw her and veered away, again narrowly avoiding her touch. His agility was not supernatural, but he used his explosive gift to aid in his maneuvers. Moving tactically, she managed to herd him back towards the garden. They were at a stalemate. Until another enemy attacked from above.

# # # # #

Darcy was getting frustrated. He had managed to keep the speedster and the strongman contained, as well as blocking the enemy musketeers. With the leaders incapacitated, the militia were slow to organize an effective counterattack, despite the fact that they outnumbered the radicals two to one. The red woman was closing on him.

"You tried to kill me. I'm going to return the favor," she declared. "I'm going to burn it all!" She sent a jet of flames towards him.

"Not this time, witch." Darcy replied. "This place is under my protection." He parried her jet with a tight pulse of gravity. This distracted him long enough for the strongman to work free of Darcy's gravity trap and fling the body of one of the militiamen at the crown magistrate.

Before the body hit Darcy, a giant hand at the end of an elongated arm caught the projectile gently enough that if the man was still alive he would return to the earth in the same state. Sir William then turned to the attacker and said, "It's you and me again. Think the end will be different?"

"It could happen," the filthy man muttered.

Bingley reached out to grab the boy who had managed to get away from the previous battle. But the boy dodged and vanished, leaving a bloody slice along the gentleman's arm. "No!" cried Miss Bennet. She slammed her hand in to the ground and geysers of water erupted all over the lawn. The invisible boy could be seen by the disturbance in the spray. Bingley pulled a length of leather cord out of his pocket and raced to the aqueous form and bound him securely.

"Look at me!" Flames engulfed Darcy, singing his clothes and causing excruciating pain. The red woman flew up to him and grabbed him by the throat. "You are so pretty, but you never had to fight like I did. That's why I'll win."

# # # # #

Lydia Bennet had been enjoying the attention her panegyrical behavior had been garnering her. She was not fond of the muted colors required by half-mourning, but the catharsis of true grief she felt at the deaths of a friend and Captain Carter, a man she was convinced she might one day have developed feelings for, felt so good. Then, at the party so many had paid attention to her for behavior for which even her father and superior sister had not chided or mocked her. She had even considered if the black of full mourning would look better on her, though claiming that level of grief for a man she had no relationship to might have raised eyebrows. Then the killers had returned. Now instead of grief or fear, she was feeling anger. How dare they!

As her anger rose, her speed increased. She had almost reached the head of the column when she heard her boring Cousin Collins call out, "There are foes ahead! Beware!"

Charlotte held out her arm to stop her mother and Maria. She pointed her pistol at the woods, but a sword came out of the bushes and slashed at her arm, knocking he pistol free. Lydia was shocked when there was no blood from the attack. Another man charged into the gentle glow provided by Lady Lucas.

"No! No more!" Lydia exploded into action.

The man brought his musket to bear, bayonet flashing towards her. She seized the blade and yanked the weapon out of his hand. Grabbing the barrel, she shoved the stock into the man's gut, sending him crashing back into a tree, from whence he slumped bonelessly to the ground. Using the musket as a club, she accosted the swordsman, batting his blade away and staving in his skull on the return swing.

A third man attacked from the flank, firing a pistol; which Charlotte threw herself in the path of, returning fire with her second pistol, which she had retrieved from her cloak pocket. Both shooters went down. Lady Lucas immediately stooped to check on her daughter. "I'm uninjured, though I will be in pain on the morrow."

"That was the bravest thing I've ever seen," Mr. Collins said quietly to Charlotte. "I cannot sense anyone else in front of us, but we should probably keep going. I … I'll take the lead." Maria handed him the pistol that Charlotte had dropped.

Lydia's father made his way to the front, cutlass in hand. "We have to keep moving."

"Right!" Mr. Collins said.

Lydia fell back, still clutching the musket. Her anger flared higher. _These scoundrels had her family running through the night. Attacking them!_ She looked at her hand, where she had grasped the naked blade of the bayonet. There was a line of blood down her palm. That just increased her rage. _She was not going to run anymore._

She turned and sprinted back towards the back of the house, where her sister was fighting to save them. She was not over fond of Miss Perfect Elizabeth Bennet, but no one was going to hurt another of her sisters. No one.

When she rounded the corner, she saw a man hovering near the roof of the house firing blades of ruby energy at Lizzy while she sparred with a little man with flatulent hands and a six-armed monster. She threw the musket like a spear at the monster and grabbed the little man by the collar. She spun twice, the man flying off his feet, and heaved him at the flying attacker. The flyer dodged, letting the little man impact the corner of the house where the upper wall joined the roof.

Much to Lydia's surprise the little man exploded, vaporizing half the roof and upper floor. _Oops…_

# # # # #

Darcy heard the explosion and saw the house quake in response, windows shattering and masonry crumbling. He had no idea if anyone had been hurt, though all he could think of was Elizabeth. His temper, barely held in check for the majority of the battle, finally slipped its frayed leash. He roared his anger into the night, sending out a massive gravity wave that slammed everyone in the yard, friend and foe alike, into the muddy ground.

The flaming redhead alone managed to avoid the fate as she unleashed her full power to keep herself in the air, the powerful jet of flame she sent beneath her washed over a group of militamen and armed radicals locked in close quarter battle, cooking them in place. "No! I will not be brought down by you."

Darcy groaned at the lives lost due to his momentary mistake. He could never afford to lose control. "Those are the last lives you will take. By the power vested in me by His Majesty, I sentence you to death."

"One more death. Just one more!" She few at him, her blazing corona growing. He charged to meet her, his own shield of gravity sucking at the flames that licked out to engulf him. They clashed in mid-air, each grappling with the other; her burning hands reaching for his eyes when he took her by the throat in a one-handed grip, holding her at arm's length. She clawed at his wrist as he throttled her. His gravity field protected him from most of her flames, but as they struggled in proximity he began to smolder and smoke as her heat overcame his protections.

A moment later a sharp crack resounded through the night. Darcy released the broken body of the fire witch, watched as it plummeted to the ground, then looked at his burned and blistered hand.

"Darcy!" Bingley's voice drifted up from below, the massive gravity field attenuating the sound. "Release us!"

He looked down and saw his friend and allies were suffering from the crushing pressure as much as the attackers. He released the field, preparing to clamp down again on the extraordinaries and their associates.

The boy had produced a knife and cut through the bindings. He was speeding towards Miss Bennet, knife poised to plunge into her tender flesh; when a stone, flew from behind and took his head off. The body slid to a stop at her feet. All eyes turned to Sir William, who in turn was staring at the scruffy strong man as he dropped the other stone in his hand.

"Stupid bugger didn't know when he was beaten," the raggedy man said as he raised his hands high over his head. "I surrender." This was repeated by the three surviving henchmen as they tossed their weapons to the side and fell to their knees.

# # # # #

Elizabeth stared at her sister for a moment, shocked by both her presence and her actions. The burning pain of a blade scoring across her back returned her attention to the fight at hand. The grotesque had readied himself with four blades and two pistols. He danced in and out, somehow keeping an eye on each of her hands, avoiding any touch, or taking her blows on his armored bracers. He fired the pistols during the exchange, but she used her superior speed to parry the barrels each time, taking only minor wounds that healed as the fight went on.

Finally, she realized the only way she would be able to overcome his numerical and experience advantage was to act in a way he would never expect. Rather than dodging or parrying, she threw herself onto one of his knives, taking a horrible cut on her left arm. But this fouled his rhythm enough that she was able to touch his arm. With that contact, she sent an impulse that paralyzed him from the neck down.

As he fell he muttered a breathless "No!" and clenched his jaw, biting down. Elizabeth heard a snap, then smelled almonds.

Before she could reach down to stop the spread of the poison, a ruby ribbon from the flyer sliced towards her. She dodged and tumbled towards Sir John. He had his opponent encased in ice, though the levitator had the Colonel in his translucent bonds as well. Elizabeth continued tumbling, dodging the attacks from the flyer. She ended her maneuvers at the frozen levitator. She punched through the sheath of ice touch the man, putting him into a deep sleep.

This released the Colonel, who fell to his knees, trying desperately to catch his breath. "I took yours down, if you would be so kind as to return the favor…" She pointed to the flyer who was engaged with Lydia. While she had a moment, Elizabeth doffed the ruined frock coat and sprouted her wings. She took off towards the ruby flyer.

Sir John sent a storm of ice crystals at the man. He wove a ruby ribbon, which shattered the ice storm. Lydia was trying to fire a spent musket she had taken from a fallen foe. When it would not discharge, she hurled it, spinning end over end, at the ExtraOrdinary. Elizabeth flew like a raptor hunting a pigeon, swooping around the attacks from the ground and the crimson bands and blades sent out by the other flyer.

She swept past him, flying higher into the night sky, then, as he was once again engaged with the efforts of the others, she closed her wings and plunged down to engulf him in her wide spread arms. On contact, she rendered him unconscious. They plummeted. Mere feet off the ground, she dropped her prey and spread her wings wide, slowing her enough to absorb the impact of the landing with her enhanced muscles.

Looking around, she saw all the attackers were down. Her legs buckled beneath her and she collapsed to the ground.


	29. Chapter 29

Darcy heard the sounds of battle on the other side of the house. A quick perusal of the yard showed everything in the control of his allies. Thinking of Miss Elizabeth, he soared over the burning roof. He found her struggling to rise from the paving stones. Her youngest sister was there for some reason, covered in debris, helping her sister to her feet. He watched as Sir John checked the condition of Captain Cleveland, then called for Miss Elizabeth. She rushed to the blood-soaked man and laid her hands on his throat. Darcy could see that she had been wounded several times herself, but her gift had already mostly healed them.

Seeing her well was enough for him to breathe a sigh of relief. But he was not yet ready to address her with any semblance of equanimity. Instead, he flew around the boundary of the estate. He found the rest of the militia squads were either escorting the column of civilians through the woods to Meryton, led by Major Francis, or were setting up a new perimeter around the house. Several men were digging the survivors out of the burning tent. There was no sign of further attackers or escapees. He landed beside his friend. "I think that is all of them."

"What of the others?" Bingley asked quietly. He had taken off his frock coat and wrapped it around Miss Bennet's shoulders.

"Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia are on the other side of the house. While it looks like they have been active in the fighting, they appear to be without any significant injuries." Darcy said. "The rest of your families are on the way to Meryton, guarded by a squad from the militia. While I am sure they are uncomfortable, unhappy, and most likely concerned about your welfare, I saw no signs they had been attacked."

"What of my family, Mr. Darcy?' asked Sir William?

He stopped for a moment, wondering if he would be able to pick the Mayor's family out of the crowd. "I have no reason to think any in the column were injured. It might be best if you were to go to Meryton to organize shelter for them until transportation, or at least escorts, can be arranged to return them to their various homes."

"If I'm not needed here, that might be for the best." Sir William's relief was clear. He started jogging towards the nearby town.

"Oh dear," Miss Bennet said sadly, "the house … perhaps I can help." She was pointing to where the upper floors were burning steadily.

"You cannot take any more risks," Bingley said. "You should never have followed out us here."

"I appreciate your concern, but I will not stand by when I can do something. I can fight fire".

"Then go," Bingley said. "I will see what there is to salvage in the stables. With so many guests, there were many more horses and carriages. Perhaps some remain undamaged."

"Darcy!" Sir John's voice carried over the yard. He jogged towards them. "Do we have any prisoners?"

"Four, including one who is an old friend." Darcy gestured to the scruffy strongman. "He surrendered."

"And I'm willing to tell you everything I know. I just don't want to swing." The man sounded much more comfortable than he should have, given his precarious position. Darcy wondered just how many times he had faced arrest and trial.

"Bingley, would you please examine the outbuildings to determine if there is a suitable location where we might speak with the prisoner …"

"Reilly. M'name's Reilly. It's easier if ya got something to call me other than that guy or the prisoner."

"Someplace we can speak with Reilly."

"I shall return momentarily … The steward's house is still unoccupied, and seems to have escaped attack." Bingley had disappeared momentarily, leaving a whirlwind in his wake. Darcy was happy to see the grin on his face illustrate the pleasure he took from such an innocent use of his gift.

"One moment," Sir John said, then raised his voice to be heard throughout the yard. "Captain Denny, are you dead?"

"Um…No, sir. Just momentarily indisposed."

"Well, get yourself disposed. Get a runner to the battalion, we need reinforcements and wagons to carry the wounded to the Red Lion. I also want ten men to guard the prisoners. No one but me takes them anywhere. Understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"We have two in back, secure them and bring them to the steward's house. Mr. Darcy, will you please bring Reilly with us?"

"I can walk."

One they had arranged themselves in the borrowed abode, Darcy asked the Colonel "Should we not wait for Miss Elizabeth?" He would rather not subject himself to her presence, but knew she had more than earned her place in this room.

"She has gone to the Red Lion to treat the wounded," Sir John answered. "I am sure that not all our prisoners will be so cooperative. I felt she need not be subjected to such unpleasantness."

"Very well," He looked at his blistered hand. He knew Miss Elizabeth could heal the burn in seconds. But he could not risk opening himself to her touch. He feared he would disgrace himself by admitting to her just how much she meant to him. Worse he would, he was certain, beg her to give up her engagement and elope with him. But he could not do that to her, who he loved, or to her father, who he had grown to respect, or to Bingley, who he was certain was ready to tie himself to her family. He had to let her go.

They found that their erstwhile enemy was in a talkative mood. "I really do believe that the gifted have done a rotten job of running the world. From the bottom looking up, all we see is crap falling like rain. Personally, I have had the benefit of you magistrate's special attention since I was a boy. All I ever did was try to feed myself and my family, but … you don't want to hear about that."

"I was enjoying his Majesty's hospitality about a year ago, when I was approached by a guard that said he could get me out if I was willing to talk with a man about a job. Turns out I had been running my mouth about my beliefs and someone had heard. I agreed readily enough. So that night I died in custody and he slipped my body out. He took me to a Frenchman who laid his hand on me like some sort of faith healer. After a minute he got really happy and told me 'I'd do'. Turns out he was looking for Ordinaries that had some special nature that allowed him to manifest temporary gifts. All we had to do was do our best to break the world for him. I was all for getting a gift, even if it only lasted three or four weeks at a time, and left you sick as a dog for days afterwards. So, here I am."

"Who is the Frenchman?"

"He calls himself LaFontaine. No idea if that's his real name."

"The fountain?" the Colonel mused.

"Or the font. As in the origin of gifts maybe?" Darcy suggested. The idea of an individual that could instill gifts in nulls was revolutionary indeed. A danger to the social order. And if he were a supporter of Bonaparte, it might mean a massive shift in the prosecution of the war.

"Where is he?"

"Been a different place every time we meet. The last was a house near Wood Green. We were there since the last attack, planning this one."

"Who is we?" the Colonel asked. Reilly named the others in his group. The woman Darcy had executed was called Jenny Red. The six-armed man was a former soldier called Mansfield. The other ExtraOrdinaries, as LaFontaine had named his creations, that had been taken alive were Grace and Fielding, newly joined for the final attack.

The questions continued for more than an hour. Reilly was a cooperative as he promised, though Darcy realized that his cooperation made it easier for him to hide things by simply leaving them out of the volume of information he did confess. At the end of the hour Sir John pulled Darcy aside.

"This is more important than I had imagined. The Home Office and the War Office both need to be informed of the threat as soon as possible." His voice was low and serious.

"I agree."

"Then will you take the message, immediately. Even an hour's delay may allow this LaFontaine to escape. I would send Mr. Bingley, but not only does he have a ruined home to occupy him, but he is not known in the halls of power. You are."

Darcy hesitated. Leaving Hertfordshire at this time would lose him any opportunity to stop Miss Elizabeth before she married the wrong man, and convince her that she should spend her life with him. But it was necessary. For Darcy duty had always come first, no matter what the cost. It was also the right thing to do, for Elizabeth's happiness required Longbourn. "I'll leave within the hour."

He went to find Bingley. He owed him an explanation, at least. He walked into a gentle rain that had soaked the property. There were still spots where smoke spiraled lazily up into the night sky, but the roaring flames were doused. He found Bingley and Miss Bennet examining the damage done to the house. Rather than being made downcast by the damage, they were discussing improvements they could imagine in the future. He saw they were walking with her arm in his.

Darcy knocked on the wall to get their attention. "Bingley, may I have a word?"

"Darcy, old man! You must felicitate me. My dearest Miss Bennet has consented to be my bride." Bingley's face almost split from his smile. His lady love was blushing most becomingly. Darcy felt their happiness stab into him.

"You have my most sincere congratulations. I'm sure you will suit very well." He offered the lady a bow then beckoned for his friend. "I still need a few minutes of your time." They stepped into the next room.

"What is it?" Bingley's voice held concern.

"I must go to London tonight, almost this very moment. But first I needed to let you know I am going to report to the Home and War Offices."

"It is that serious?"

"There is a French agent in England that can grant temporary gifts to nulls. He is the one behind these attacks. It is essential that he is captured, before he can duplicate this horror across the whole nation."

"I understand. Can I ask a favor of you?"

"Of course. What can I do?"

"Can you send a coach to fetch Caroline and the Hursts back to town? There is no way they can stay here now. And I must speak to Mr. Bennet as soon as I may."

"You plan on staying here?"

"I plan on buying the place and rebuilding. We have paid for this land in blood. I am not willing to just give it back."

"Then I wish you well and we must part ways for a time." Darcy offered his hand. Bingley took it. "I'll send my coach as soon as I arrive. A second for servants and luggage will follow. Write for anything else you may need. Or you can always just stop by." The last was said with the hint of a smile. Bingley laughed and returned to his lady.

Darcy took a last look at the place. In some ways he hoped his friend's plans did not succeed, as he thought he would never be comfortable visiting this close to Longbourn. He closed his eyes and flung himself into the air, speeding towards the great metropolis.


	30. Chapter 30

"Lizzy!" Lydia called as Elizabeth collapsed. She was so tired. She had never strived so, pushing her gift and body to their limits and beyond. Exhaustion crashed over her like a wave. "Lizzy. Are you hurt?"

"Miss Elizabeth?" The Colonel's voice called to her. The battle was not yet over. She clawed her way to her feet, leaning more on her sister than she was willing to admit. "Captain Cleveland is grievously wounded. Can you help him?"

She lurched to the fallen officer, and saw his throat had been sliced. The blood was still seeping out of the incision. She placed both hands over the wound and reached deep to find enough power to connect with the Captain's body. She was able to close the cut, but forcing his body to produce new blood was more difficult. She found the worst damage was to his vocal cords. Once he was stable she pushed his body to regenerate the center of his gift, hoping he would still have the control he previously had. But she was so drained. She did not think it was enough.

"Where are the other wounded?" she asked.

"Colonel!" a voice called from the east. They turned to see Mr. Chamberlayne coming out of the woods with ten men behind him.

"Ensign, take four men and start moving the wounded to a central place. Determine if the stables are safe. If so, use them. That's where we'll send the wagons. If not, set up as close as is practicable. Make sure you keep our men and theirs separate. If there are any of their men conscious, set a guard over them. The rest of these troops are to patrol this side of the house."

"Sir!"

"I can help!" Lydia volunteered, smiling at the young subaltern.

"Miss … Lydia isn't it?"

"It is, Colonel."

"I saw your amazing performance earlier. Perhaps you could assist your sister to Meryton. We will be sending the wounded to the Red Lion. If she is in a condition to perform, she may be able to save many lives. But she is too exhausted to make it there safely on her own. Can you help?"

"Sir John?" Elizabeth was too fuzzyheaded to fully comprehend his purpose. He turned to her and winked.

"Oh! I know what to do. I think I saw it in the stables." She ran off.

"I'll keep her out of more trouble," Elizabeth assured the older man. "And we'll proceed to Meryton. I'll be ready when the wounded arrive." He nodded and jogged towards the front of the house.

Elizabeth wondered where Darcy was. She had not seen him since before the fighting began. She suspected he had heard Mr. Collins' ridiculous ramblings. She was concerned that he might have drawn spurious conclusions from them. But she was too tired to pursue the matter. She would track him down on the morrow for a long overdue discussion.

When she got to the stables, she was happy to see they were not too badly damaged, though the horses and grooms were gone. She could smell that they had gone too far away. She doubted they would be seen before noon. Lydia was pulling an old pony cart. Elizabeth remembered seeing old Mrs. Sturbridge tooling around the area on it when the family still lived at Netherfield.

"You just get in the seat and I can pull it. You're tired, so you can rest. I'm not tired and I can get you to Meryton quickly."

Elizabeth realized the impropriety, but her exhaustion precluded her from protesting. She also assumed that on this night, Lydia pulling a cart was the last thing people would find noteworthy. So, with a silent nod she climbed into the seat and held on while Lydia stepped between the shafts and started to run down the lane towards town. Elizabeth found she was actually enjoying the ride.

They arrived at the Red Lion just as Charlotte led the first of the guests into town. Elizabeth leapt from the cart and ran to embrace her friend. "Are you alright? Lydia said you got shot!"

"Bruised, but unbroken, I think. You know my gift."

"Yes, but even with your unbreakable skin, a musket ball can cause you great trauma. Let me see…"

"No. There are worse wounded. I think Miss Bingley may have broken something in the woods."

Elizabeth stretched out her senses and discovered that Charlotte was right about her own state. She was battered but not badly hurt by the impact.

"Lizzy!" Her father embraced her. "I am very glad to see two of my wayward daughters are well. Have you seen Jane?"

"No …. Is she not with you?"

"No. I suspect she stayed to help a certain young man who joined the fight in the front of the house. I have not seen her since he separated from us."

Her exhaustion left her very sort tempered and her concern for her most beloved sister caused her anger to flare. "Foolish, headstrong girl!" Elizabeth cried under her breath.

"May I suggest we get all these people in to the inn," Major Francis recommended. "I have sent word to Mr. Wickham at the encampment to send reinforcements to Netherfield."

"Good idea, Major." Mr. Bennet said.

"Sir John will be sending wounded here. We need to prepare a place. Perhaps Lady Lucas and Mother can organize the ladies in preparing a makeshift hospital."

"Lizzy needs to rest," Lydia, who had her arm around her friend Maria, insisted. "The Colonel said she needed to be ready for the wounded. She exhausted herself in the battle."

"That sounds very reasonable." Her father agreed. "Lizzy, why don't you lie down until we are ready. Mr. Jones can triage the wounded for you."

The rest of the night was a nightmare for Elizabeth, filled with the weeping and blood. When the wounded from the battle arrived, she spent all her remaining energy trying desperately to save what lives she could. Captain Hawthorne and Mr. Jones worked by her side, managing the patients whose treatment was within their capabilities and providing a buffer between her and the many who wanted her time and attention. Miss Bingley, for instance, was deeply offended that her sprained ankle was not deemed serious enough for Miss Eliza's limited resources; but Captain Hawthorne was more than up to facing her affronted disapprobation.

At some point Elizabeth finally collapsed.

She woke the next morning. Someone had moved her to a room at the inn. Jane was with her, asleep in a second bed. Elizabeth reached out and touched her sister lightly on the wrist. She basked in her beloved elder sibling's familiar comforting presence and detected nothing worse than bone deep exhaustion in her. She crawled out of the warmth of the bed and dragged herself to the small window. Outside the weak November sun hung high in the sky. It was almost midday. Though she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day and the coming night in the arms of Morpheus, she could not ignore the wounded she knew were waiting her in the improvised hospital.

As she moved around, she heard a scratching on the door. It opened, and Sally stuck her head in. "Oh, thank goodness," the maid said. "I thought I heard someone stirring in here. I've clean clothes for you, Miss. I'll bring them in and you can change."

"Thank you, Sally. You're a godsend." Elizabeth kept her voice low so as to avoid waking her sister.

When Elizabeth finally appeared below stairs, Captain Hawthorne and Mr. Bennet were waiting for her.

"How are you, daughter?

"I am better father. My body heals itself quickly enough, but I don't know that there is enough of my gift left to treat a hangnail."

"What you did last night was beyond belief," enthused Captain Hawthorne. "As close to miraculous as I can imagine, though I do not mean to blaspheme. We did not lose a single person that reached you alive. I have never seen the like."

"Please Captain …"

"Shall we spare my daughter's blushes. It is true that none have died, but there are still several that will require either additional treatments or lengthy convalescences. But you can afford to rest for the day. Once your sister has joined us, I suggest we make our way home. You can return tomorrow, once you are better capable of using your gift."

"Are Jane and I the only ones here?"

"Your mother and younger sisters returned to Longbourn late last night. Sir William and Mr. Harrington both volunteered their second carriages to convey people throughout the neighborhood until well after dawn. You and Jane were too exhausted to move."

"Perhaps a light meal will help refresh me." Her father agreed. So, Elizabeth sat and broke her extended fast with the two men. The surgeon gave her a precis of the condition of the different patients. Before the summary was complete, Jane had joined them.

As the three Bennets strolled home, Mr. Bennet said, "While you were sleeping this morning, a young man came to see me with a most unusual request. Can you guess who and what this might be?"

Jane blushed then replied, "Was it Mr. Bingley?" Elizabeth looked up and studied her companions. Jane was as red as she had ever seen her, but her smile was radiant. Mr. Bennet looked at this eldest fondly, but with more than a hint of melancholy.

"It was indeed," her father answered. "And as you may have guessed he came to me to ask for your hand in marriage, dear Jane. Have you accepted him?"

"I have."

"Are you certain this is what you want? Think not on your mother, or anyone else. This is a most important decision."

"I love him father, and I think I can make him happy."

"Of that I have not doubt. It is rather the opposite that concerns me."

"You have doubts about Mr. Bingley?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, not as such. But I must admit that I doubt that there is any man worthy of either of you. I imagine you will do very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. I have given him my consent."

"Thank you, Father! Tis too much!" she added, "by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! Why is not everybody as happy?"

Elizabeth was overjoyed at her sister's great fortune, but wondered if she would ever find her own happiness. "What was Mr. Bingley's sister's reaction, I wonder?" she mused aloud.

"I am afraid I cannot say," her father replied. "They had left in the early hours of the morning. I understand Mr. Darcy, who has gone to London to report the events of last night, sent a coach to retrieve them and Mr. Hurst. Mr. Bingley is going to stay in the neighborhood to see to the restoration of Netherfield. I understand he means to purchase it, so he and Jane will have a permanent home."

"Mister … The others have all gone away?" Elizabeth changed her inquiry to be more general, though there was only one person whose absences she was truly concerned with.

"They have. And I do not think they mean to return." Mr. Bennet said solemnly, as he took his second daughter's hand.


	31. Chapter 31

"The attack in Hertfordshire was a failure!" cried Robert Graves. His face was flushed and his breath came in ragged gasps, evidence of the haste of his journey from Westminster to Marylebone.

"Be calm, _mon ami_ ," LaFontaine chided. Graves was a man with too much sensibility and too little sense. It was that, along with his position as a clerk to the Superintendent of the Alien Office, that made him so valuable to suborn. He felt too keenly the humiliation and frustration of a genius forced to serve men with half his wit, solely because he was born without a gift. Every day he saw others striving to solve the challenges of overseeing the nation's intelligence and counter-intelligence efforts during a time of existential crisis, while he was left to manage the minutia inherent in any burgeoning bureaucracy. "What has crossed the Superintendent's desk this morning?"

"No, don't you see? It is far worse than an any letter or memorandum. It's that blasted crown magistrate, Darcy. He came to the office at first light with a report of a most alarming nature. There was a massive attack at a country ball. All the gentry from the area were gathered when more than a score of armed, and in some cases gifted, insurrectionists attacked the event."

LaFontaine frowned at the man's almost unconscious translation of lurid fact into the driest prose. It was a talent that served the man well in his clerical position, but was frustrating to his listeners. "I am aware of the attack. What was the result? It is apparent that Mr. Darcy survived."

"He said that several people had been killed in the attack, but that at least three prisoners had been taken alive. During the subsequent interrogation, one of the gifted prisoners, a man named Reilly, had cooperated and revealed the name of the person … well, you."

"I … see. That is most unfortunate." LaFontaine considered the man before him. He was a direct link between the Frenchman and his illicit activities in the Alien Office. Removing him would sever that link. But if LaFontaine's name was already known, that action was unnecessary. It was better to keep Grave's complicity secret, as he might still be of use. "I believe it may be time for me to pursue a period of rustication. You will hear from me either directly or through an agent. The telltale will be Jacob. Do you understand?"

"I … Yes, I do."

" _Bon_. In the meanwhile, I advise you to take care for your own safety. I believe it is time for Plan Armageddon." Without further ado, the spymaster handed his agent a purse of gold and saw him to the door.

"Is this the end of LaFontaine?" he mused aloud. He wondered if this particular alias had fulfilled its purpose. The Frenchman had been born Claude Danton, grand-nephew of Georges Danton, the founder of the Committee for Public Safety. The murder of his famous relative by his own revolutionary compatriots had turned his family's fervor from anti-monarchist to revenge on the system that betrayed their loyalty. Claude's father Gerard had allied himself with a young general, Napoleon Bonaparte, and took an active role in the coup of 18 Brumaire. This guaranteed him a place, though not well known, in the First Consul's favor.

Because of Gerard's connection to a convicted traitor, it was thought best that he be sent on an extended mission to Britain, the eternal enemy of France. He emigrated with his family under the name Geroges deBussey, a descendant of a cadet branch of an old noble line. His mission was to create a network of agents and informants and report regularly to minions of Tallyrand or other French officials. Claude was raised as Jacques deBussey until his father's death when Claude was twenty-two.

At that point he left Britain to travel on the Grand Tour, on which he was instructed to meet an Italian tutor, who helped him discover the extent of his somatic gift. When he perfected the ability to instill temporary gifts into nulls, it was decided in Paris that Claude would return to England. Once Jacques deBussey had secured the surprisingly large inheritance from his father's estate, he disappeared and Mssr. LaFontaine made his appearance with a history similar to deBussey.

As LaFontaine, he reactivated the network created by his father and resumed the intelligence gathering all while looking for likely men and women to form his own gifted army to sow fear and discord inside his nation's adversary. He found those that had suffered at the hands of the British gentry and offered them the opportunity for power and revenge. Many were already on the fringes of the Ordinary movement, involved in polemical discourse or more radical political actions. Some he found in prisons. Others in positions of proximity to power. A few were even susceptible to the more traditional lures of sex or money. He slowly gathered them all to his purpose.

It was unfortunate that his gift did not work on everyone. Only a small percentage of people could be given effective powers. For some, nothing happened. While others his gift transformed into grotesques, often driven mad with pain or grief. He had uses for these as well. But his gift was effective on enough people that he was able to field his first cell of ExtraOrdinaries. He sent them to Hertfordshire as a final vindication of his concept. They were meant to be a test, rather than the final implementation of the idea. The location was chosen simply because that was Dash's home. The involvement of this Mr. Darcy and the damnable Bennet family had not been part of the plan.

Shaking off his untimely reverie LaFontaine realized he had much to do before he retreated from the City. He knew the forces from the Alien Office would be after him. They might already be on their way to his house. He had to act immediately to relocate to another location, unknown to the authorities. As he walked to the hidden door to his sub-basement, he decided that once his revenge on those forcing him from this most comfortable of existence was complete, LaFontaine would disappear and deBussey would re-emerge from his self-imposed exile.

When he reached the ancient stone dungeons upon which the house had been built, he found the results of some of his early experiments with instilling gifts in animals. He walked between the cages looking at the terrifying collection of claw, fangs, fur, and scales that growled, barked, hissed, and gnashed at him. At the end of the chamber there was a door. He used a key from his ring to unlock it, then walked through. The door was thick metal and he dropped a heavy bar on the opposite side. He was in a roughhewn tunnel leading into darkness. There was a lantern hanging on the wall next to the door that he lit. It illuminated the tunnel. Several paces in, there was a lever on the wall. Setting the lantern, down he used both hands to pull the lever. It resisted at first; then finally, it moved, sliding slowly to the bottom.

At that signal several things happened. The doors to the cages in the room he had just traversed opened, releasing the monsters into the chamber. And the walls of the stairs leading to the house collapsed, opening the passage wide enough for the monsters to manage easily A heavy stone barrier slammed down, blocking the door to his escape tunnel. And the first several paces of the tunnel collapsed inward. Now safely separated from the havoc he had just unleashed LaFontaine made his way into the subterranean maze that lay under the metropolis.

"Cranmer! Open up!" LaFontaine, now clean shaven and close cropped, pounded on the door of his associate's modest accommodation. They day was still young, and the defrocked priest was not an early riser. Eventually he did come to the door.

"What are you doing here." Even in his confusion, Cranmer knew well enough not to use any names.

"Perhaps I might come in?"

"Of course. Please."

Once inside the room LaFontaine went to the cupboard where his host kept his coffee. Preparing two cups, the Frenchman handed the heady brew to his heavy-eyed companion. "Drink. I need you awake for this."

After a moment Cranmer was aware enough to notice the details of his guest's new appearance. "Something went wrong," he deduced.

"Rather. Reilly has betrayed us. Most of the rest are dead, but Reilly survived and was captured. He has decided to cooperate with the government. They know my name, but he never knew yours."

"I … did not see this."

"No. I asked you for the best time and place for my forces to attack with the best chance of killing the gentry and sowing terror. I did not ask if my forces would succeed."

"And I could not have told you that anyway. Only times and places."

"Indeed. And I have consulted you too recently for you to be able to answer another question. So, we must muddle through on our own wits."

"You are running?"

"I am making a tactical retreat. I think it is time I saw some of this beautiful country. I may not be back to London for some time. On the other hand, it may not be safe for anyone for the next month or more."

"Armageddon?"

"Might I suggest that you relocate as well, possibly to Hertfordshire. There is something I wish for you to do there."

"What is that?"

"Our efforts there were stymied, to the extent that they were, largely by members of the Bennet family. They have proven distressingly competent, well beyond expectations. Mr. Bennet's unanticipated connection to the Superintendent, in particular, is very disturbing. I find it likely that, unchecked, they will continue to impose themselves into my concerns. I wish to prevent that. You may recall from Dash's ramblings about the family that the middle daughter is a hollow."

"And very politically active. I have seen her letters to the editor in more than one Ordinary leaning publication. It is somewhat shocking that a maiden would thrust herself into the public discourse in such a manner." Cranmer nodded.

"I think she is our way in. I want to you to begin a correspondence with her, eventually leading to a _tête-à-tête_ where, if possible, you will recruit her to our cause. At the least I want her to be our ear on the inside, so you will need to subtly steer the conversation to the investigation and her family's part in it."

Cranmer pondered for a moment, LaFontaine gave him time, knowing the man was a thoughtful one, who deliberated on any decision. "I believe I can do that. May I use my gift for this mission?"

"I will not need to ask you anything for several weeks. Feel free to question yourself, but only in the next … to be safe … two weeks. I may need your answers sooner than I anticipate."

"I'll leave for the St. Albans house forthwith. I shall travel under the name Henry More, I believe."

"Beware clever allusions, _mon ami_. Smart men are too often brought down by their own intelligence."

Before he left, LaFontaine took a moment to pen a missive to Lieutenant Wickham.

 _Dear Sir,_

 _I applaud your performance in your duties. I encourage you to continue your efforts. I am happy to hear you have made such good friends as the Bennets and the Bingleys. Please give my particular regards to those dearest to my heart._

 _Your Friend_

 _X_

 _No reason not to use what tools are in place_ , he thought to himself as he asked Cranmer to post the letter from St. Albans.

LaFontaine chose to make one more stop before beginning his sojourn to the north. He found himself in a dilapidated dwelling hidden in the labyrinthine alleys of Southwark. "Comrades, it is time for Armageddon."

The seven men and three women looked at him with the fervent light of fanaticism bright in their hollow eyes. "It is time for you to strike back. The gifted maintain that they deserve suzerainty over the nulls because of the protections they provide. I want you to expose to the world the gross calumnies these claims are! You will rampage, unchecked, through the population; demonstrating the impotence of those that assert their power over the people."

"Won't that mean good, normal people will die?"

"And each sacrifice will raise the awareness of the hypocrisy inherent in the system. If you feel so inclined, you may also target the ruling class. But only one attack in ten, no more. And when you do, leave this sign." He handed them a card with XO written plainly. He assumed that the Alien Office knew the term ExtraOrdinary that he used for his forces. But these men and women were illiterate. The X was more familiar and easier to draw than the E. He left a pile of the cards. "Never leave these at the site of an attack on the normal populous. Instead, use these …" He opened a bag with dozens of red feathered arrows. "These are the sign of the New Mohocks."

"Ohhh…" The name of the infamous street gang brought a reaction from the listeners. The Mohocks had been delinquent young gentlemen who terrorized the city in the last century.

"The assumption that their assailants are of the nobility will only increase the unrest of the common man." Once LaFontaine was certain the group understood his instructions, he spent several hours activating their new gifts. After that he took a circuitous route towards the north. As he traveled, he paused to imbue gifts on passing mongrels, moggies, oxen, and rats. Most would perish in the change. But London was facing a plague of monsters.

As he journeyed, he mused on his destination. He decided that, as Mr. Darcy had interfered with his initial experiment, Derbyshire seemed the ideal location for his next round of trials. Pemberley in particular.


	32. Chapter 32

Darcy found himself outside 20 Crown Street.

Upon his arrival in London, after sending his coach for the Hursts and Miss Bingley, he had made his way to the home of Mr. Ryder, the Home Secretary. He hated to disturb him in the middle of the night, but the need was great. Ryder had listened and ordered him to take the whole business to Mr. Wickham. "This is obviously in his bailiwick. If Liverpool has objections, I will address them in the Cabinet."

As he had no previous social acquaintance with Mr. Wickham, he did not know where his home was. Therefore, he stationed himself outside the Alien Office to await the arrival of the Superintendent. By chance this was a morning when the man arrived early, the dawn still some time away. Darcy watched as he stepped down from his carriage. He was an older man, near fifty, but maintained the good looks common in that family. The spymaster was known to be handsome, clever, and charismatic; very much like his younger relative. The resemblance was repellent.

"Mr. Wickham?" Darcy called, stepping in to the light shed by the lamps at the building's entrance. The man turned and narrowed his eyes in examination. Two footmen stepped into the street, hands on pistol butts.

"I do not know you."

"Mr. Ryder sent me. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. I've come with news."

"Ah … Yes, your name is familiar. Please come in." He gestured, and the footmen allowed Darcy to follow the older man in to the office. After making their way through a warren of desks and cabinets, all piled high with papers and folders, they finally came to an inner sanctum. There was a clerk at a desk outside Wickham's office. The middle-aged man was already shuffling through files. "Graves, please join us. This is Mr. Darcy, CM." Darcey nodded in acknowledgement of the fellow's perfunctory bow.

Once they were all settled, with a cup of tea for each, Mr. Wickham began, "I understand you are part of the investigation of the gifted insurrectionists in Hertfordshire. You have been staying with Mr. … ah… Bingley was it not? Fellow that brought the first report some weeks back. And old Bennet. Good man that. If I recall you were able to capture several of these radicals, only for them to be taken and presumably released by persons unknown."

"That is correct."

"Just wanted to be sure I was up to date. What news have you to report?"

"Just last night a force of approximately twenty-five to twenty-seven assailants attacked a ball being held at Netherfield Park, just outside of Meryton, the site of the previous assault." Darcy worked to keep his voice calm and offer only the facts of the situation. "At least six of the attackers were gifted. One was apparently a grotesque. They managed to kill several of the militia men and officers stationed to guard the event from just such an occurrence. After a complex battle on several fronts, the terrorists were defeated, but not before they managed to do significant damage to the house, through the use of some sort of explosive gift."

He paused to consider what to say next. "Most of the attackers were slain, or severely wounded. Four were captured. One was a man who calls himself Reilly. He claimed a desire to cooperate in exchange for leniency. He reported that there is a French agent, LaFontaine, in London that possesses the ability to imbue temporary gifts into the non-gifted. That, he claimed, was the origin of the abilities displayed by him and his confederates. Colonel Sir John Glover, of the Derbyshire militia, suggested I bring this report to London immediately. There may be more happening since I left, shortly after midnight."

"Did you get all that?" Mr. Wickham asked his clerk. The man had been scribbling the entire time Darcy had been speaking.

"I believe so." Graves replied. "Would you like to check my transcription, Mr. Darcy?"

The gentleman agreed and examined the paper. The clerk had a clear hand and had captured every point of Darcy's report. "This looks good."

"Excellent. Please get copies of that off to Whitehall and Horse Guards as quick as you can." The Superintendent returned his gaze to Darcy. "Do I understand that Mr. Ryder has assigned this problem to my office?"

"Yes, sir. Though I would like to be involved in the capture of this LaFontaine, if at all possible. Twice this man has sent assassins after me and mine. I believe there is a debt owed."

"Very well, but I must gather a team first. You cannot go on your own."

"You know where he is?"

"I have had my eye on this particular émigré for some time. He had never crossed the line for me to act, but now…"

It took far longer than Darcy thought necessary to assemble an assault force. A task extended by the disappearance of Mr. Wickham's clerk. Eventually five men in dark clothes gathered under the command of a Mr. Abbott.

The six rode in a landau with more men following in a second carriage. As they approached the address in a stylish section of Marylebone they heard a disturbance. Screams of terror and cries of anguish reverberated across the cobblestone streets. Men and women, mostly in the garb of servants, pelted towards the carriage. Behind them was a creature out of a phantasmagoria. It appeared to be nightmarish fusion of a silverfish and a salamander grown to the size of a four-in-hand. It charged towards Darcy's landau, tangling with the team in their traces. The anguished cries of the horses were heartrending.

The men in black suits burst from the carriage. Darcy flew through the leather roof. "Can you take that?" Abbott asked loudly.

"I can." Darcy affirmed as he reversed the gravity on the creature, sending it floating into the air.

"Good. It's not alone." Abbott led his team up the street. Darcy created a gravity well and fed the monster into it. He then flew higher, to get a better view over the houses. He saw there were a number of creatures, each different from the other, attacking everything around them or fleeing into the distance. He saw the others moving towards the house that appeared to be the origin of the infestation. Darcy surged forward to intercept the nearest monster, plucking it from the ground before it could strike down a woman carrying her child. This creature seemed to have started as a mastiff. It was smaller than the first creature, but stronger, and managed to turn in his grasp, gnawing his leg with its slavering fangs. Darcy snarled and dragged the beast away. He locked its head between his hands and sent pulses of gravity oscillating though its skull, pulverizing it. He dropped the body and advanced on the next target.

The capture mission turned into a mass extermination as Abbott found the house empty, except for the bodies of the servants. It took them almost three hours to find and eliminate all the monsters. And at that they were not certain that none had escaped. Afterwards, a carful search of the bodies in the house confirmed that none were their target, LaFontaine.

"Are you certain?" Mr. Wickham demanded.

"I have met the man," Abbott said. "And he was not among the dead, unless he can alter his countenance."

"A possibility," the Superintendent admitted, "but one we can neither confirm nor rule out at this moment. We must proceed on the assumption that he escaped. I'll send people to sift through the wreckage at the house to try to find any hints as to where he might have gone, who his connections are, or what his plans might be."

"His ability to enhance animals makes him all the more dangerous." Darcy added.

"Indeed, it does. Which is all the more reason we need to find him."

Unfortunately, finding the elusive Frenchman proved to be impossible. Nothing of use was found in the Marylebone house. Darcy thought it likely that he had fled the city, possibly even the country. After a week, Mr. Wickham had asked him to leave the investigation to his own people. Darcy had no choice but to comply.

Over the next two weeks the incidents of monster attacks, always a danger in the overcrowded city, increased threefold. The night watchmen and the local magistrates had their work cut out for them. When the "New Mohocks" began their depredations on the impoverished of the city, Darcy suspected they were more of LaFontaine's creations masquerading as rogue gentry. But because of the perception, the amity between the classes, always precarious in the metropolis, began to deteriorate to open enmity.

When it became known he was in Town, Darcy began to receive invitations. While he was not particularly fond of socializing, he knew it would be unforgivable for him to disregard the entirety of his acquaintanceship. So, he began to attend sundry social functions. He avoided balls and large gathering, instead partaking of intimate dinners and the occasional night at the theater or opera.

"Mr. Darcy, it is so good to see you again." Miss Bingley said. They had met at one of Lady McGovern's evening gatherings. Her guest list tended to be eclectic, and Darcy often found someone interesting with whom to converse. In this case however, it was Bingley's sister that had found him. "I never had the chance to thank you for your consideration in sending your carriage to bring us from that horrible place after that disastrous evening. I honestly could not have survived another moment in such dreadful company. You may not know it, but Charles was suggesting we spend the night in that little country inn."

"I was happy to be of assistance. Have you heard from Charles?"

"Yes, we received a note from him yesterday. He is still determined to tie himself, and us all, to that country nobody. I cannot tell you how disappointed we all are in him. Of course, we are not able to attend the wedding, given the state of Netherfield, which he is determined on purchasing. I do not know that I will ever be comfortable visiting the site of such … well, you know."

"I am intending to attend."

"How wonderful. You must be so disappointed that you just missed the opportunity to attend a related wedding. I understand that Mr. Collins just married in Meryton."

"Ahhh …" Darcy felt the news like a knife. "If you will excuse me, I see Lord Palmerston. I must speak to him on official business." He left the soiree soon afterwards.

Shortly before he was due to leave for Bingley's wedding, he received notice of a meeting at the Alien Office. When he walked in he was shocked to see not only the Superintendent, but his own cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, dressed in his regimentals.

"Mr. Darcy, thank you for agreeing to come. I believe you already know Colonel Fitzwilliam. He is our liaison to the War Office. We have developments in the case that I feel you may be able to bring a new perspective on."

"I'll try." Darcy sent a silent interrogatory to Richard, but he simply offered an insolent smirk in return.

"There have been two attacks on targets tied to the gentry. First was an assault on Almack's …"

"But, there are no assemblies in December."

"It seems these ExtraOrdinaries did not realize that," Richard laughed. "All they did was demolish an empty building and leave a calling card." He handed Darcy a cardboard square with XO on it.

"The next night they seemed to decide on a more certain target," Mr. Wickham continued. "They hit White's."

"I read about that." Darcy stated.

"I'm sure," scoffed Richard. "It was in all the papers. Father was most displeased. He was there that evening. Came out without a scratch, but madder than a hatter."

"As the reports described, it did not go well for the attackers," Mr. Wickham interrupted. "They were vastly outnumbered and overpowered. What you did not read was that two of the XO's were taken prisoner."

"No, I did not. They were taken alive?"

"We have been holding them for two weeks. And we are beginning to see decreases in their power levels. This is the first evidence we have that these gifts are, indeed, temporary."

"This is good news, but why tell me?"

"I understand that you worked with Miss Elizabeth Bennet in Hertfordshire," Mr. Wickham stated.

"I did, but what has she to do with this?"

"I am told she is a powerful somatic manipulator. While augers and simple healers are relatively common, manipulators of both power and control are scarcer than you may imagine. We feel that we may have need of her abilities and I wanted your opinion of her. I know her father, but you know her."

"She is an exceptional lady; powerful, intelligent, brave, resourceful, kind, dedicated, and many other accolades." Richard raised one eyebrow at this recitation. "But she is needed in Meryton, if there is any possibility that LaFontaine may return there."

"But we have no reason to assume he will return there, despite the fact that his forces struck there twice." Mr. Wickham assured.

Darcy thought quickly. "Unless they have been collected, she has access to more than one gifted prisoner from the Netherfield attack. Perhaps she can perform any needed examinations there."

"A possibility I had not considered," Mr. Wickham's self-depreciating smile was far too reminiscent of his more familiar cousin's. It disturbed Darcy on several levels. This was not a man he wanted anywhere near Miss Elizabeth, or Mrs. Collins as she now was. "As I said, you can offer new perspectives."

After the meeting Richard followed Darcy to his townhouse. Along the way they discussed how the Colonel had come to be assigned as a liaison to the Alien Office.

"I thought you had a brigade command on the Peninsula."

"I did, until one of the generals took a dislike to me. Horse Guards decided that I was of more use to them in London than in the stockade."

"That does not seem very fair."

"You'd rather I be behind bars?"

Before Darcy had the opportunity to respond, a footman brought in a message on a tray. "An express from Pemberley, sir."

Darcy opened the note and read silently.

"What it is, man?" he said when Darcy's face grew dark. His gift was reacting to his mood causing gravity eddies to swirl around the room.

"It's from Preston, my sheriff. There have been a two of monster attacks near Pemberley and a group of what sounds like ExtraOrdinaries have attacked Preston himself."

"Georgianna!"

"We have to go!" Darcy and Richard spoke in unison.

That night, Darcy sent a note to Bingley apologizing for missing his wedding.


	33. Chapter 33

Mr. Collins proposed to Charlotte the day after the Netherfield Attack. She accepted, as did her father. The prospective groom then returned to his home in Kent, promising to return for the wedding. He arrived most punctually on the Monday fortnight, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention; and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time to make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed.

Mrs. Bennet was often to be found in a most pitiable state. The very mention of anything concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill humor, and wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. Her only comfort was Jane's match with the considerably more eligible Mr. Bingley. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she regarded the younger woman with jealous abhorrence.

Whenever Charlotte came to see them Mrs. Bennet concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession; and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband.

"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," said she. "It is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take my place in it!"

"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor."

The day the wedding of William Collins to Charlotte Lucas occurred the church was filled with well-wishers from the Neighborhood. There was a subtle sense of anxiety as many attendees wondered if this would be the next occasion the terrorists would choose to strike. But the morning went without any such disturbance. Soon afterwards, the happy couple left for Kent, but not before Charlotte extended an invitation to Elizabeth to visit in the spring.

Afterwards Mrs. Bennet was heard to bemoan Elizabeth's culpability in losing the future of Longbourn to her friend. "But, Lizzy! Oh, sister! It's very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time, had not it been for her own perverseness. She insisted upon displaying her uncouth behavior in front of him. I honestly think he developed a disgust of her. I overheard him describe her animalistic behavior during the fracas at the ball to Lady Lucas. He sounded positively traumatized."

"Mr. Bennet must, then, shoulder his portion of the blame, as he is always encouraging her to undertake such masculine responsibilities as his sheriff." Aunt Phillips replied.

"I declare he has no notion of what it takes for a young girl to find a husband in today's world." The sisters commiserated at length, before eventually turning to the topics that most interested them, Jane's engagement and Mr. Bingley's reconstruction and renovation of Netherfield.

Elizabeth had spoken with him and Jane on the topic a number of times. He was dwelling in the steward's residence while the renovations were underway. The weather was kind to him, allowing the workmen, both local and imported from Town, to hurry the project along. He and Jane had decided to postpone their wedding until at least some part of Netherfield was habitable, if not complete.

"I will not have her living in a cottage," he had told the family while dining at Longbourn one evening.

"I would not care, as long as we are together," Jane replied.

"Wealth and luxury, like gifts, are not necessary to happiness and useful living," said Mary. "As can be seen in the lives of the majority of our fellow men."

"I see you have been reading the Weekly Register again," her father quipped.

"Not just reading. I have recently had published a letter decrying the violence of the ExtraOrdinaries, while supporting the need for gradual change in the current system to address the very real grievances of the non-gifted."

"What?" screeched Mrs. Bennet. "You did not sign your name, of course. You would not do that to us."

"Not exactly. I signed it Miss Mary B. I am not ashamed of my opinions. I feel fully justified in them. But I would not bring public notice on this family without your consent. That would be as wrong of me as the magisterial requirements on father are. No one should be forced to act against their will, at least not without due process."

"Mrs. Bennet, you have my congratulations. You may have raised a revolutionary, but at least she is a very considerate one."

"Mr. Bennet!"

During her daily patrols, Elizabeth took extra care searching for any sign of unusual activity. Over the weeks of peace, she had begun to relax somewhat. The militia continued their patrols as well. It was possible that their overt presence had frightened off any ne'er-do-wells, as even the highway trade appeared to be suffering fewer depredations. She often stopped to greet the officers in the course of her regular travels. The ones she encountered most frequently were Captain Hawthorne and Lieutenant Wickham.

"Good morning Miss Elizabeth, I was hoping we might meet this morning."

"Good morning Captain Hawthorne. How is Sergeant Pell today?"

"Much better. Once again, a combination of my surgery and your healing have saved a limb, perhaps even a life."

"You think it was that serious?"

"The wagon had rolled over his foot, crushing it and driving both splinters and stones into it. There was every chance, without our intervention; and by that, I mean under _any_ other medical team's care, that he would have lost the foot and if infection set in unchecked likely the whole leg and even, possibly, his life."

"I am glad then that I could be of some assistance." Elizabeth was uncomfortable with the enthusiasm of the surgeon's praise. He fell in step beside her as she walked towards Meryton, but did not offer his arm.

"I must say I think we could go far with such a medical partnership; an office in London even."

Elizabeth laughed and attempted to change the subject. "How fair our prisoners? I would like the opportunity to examine them again soon. There is something about their temporary gifts that I want to delve into further."

"I would be happy to arrange something with Sir John. I am somewhat concerned because Reilly seems to be doing rather poorly in the past few days."

"If it's not something obvious to you, given your breadth of experience, perhaps it is something to do with his current altered condition. I would like to see him as soon as may be."

"Shall we go now?"

"Please."

They continued to the militia encampment, wherein a stockade had been built to hold the prisoners surrounded by the entire regiment. Inside, were the three prisoners with temporary gifts. Those of the terrorists without gifts were held in a more mundane cell.

"Morning, Miss Lizzy." Reilly looked peaked and drawn. He was definitely losing weight and his hair appeared thinner. Even his voice lacked its customary joviality.

"Reilly. I must say you are not looking like your usual dapper self."

"I wouldn't look dapper in Brummell's best." He broke off in a fit of coughing. "But I feel like shite."

"Let me examine you." She entered the reinforced cage and set her hands on him. She sent her gift into him, finding numerous places where his humors were so imbalanced that he was literally rotting away on the inside. And the cause was the sphere of his temporary gift leaking energy throughout his body. She attempted to use her influence to redirect the errant energy, to no avail.

She had no idea how long she explored the artificial construct slowly killing the raggedy man. Nothing she did could curtail, or even delay, the damage being done. Eventually a hand on her shoulder shocked her back to awareness of the wider world. She discovered that Reilly was lying unconscious, looking worse than when they had arrived.

"Miss Elizabeth?" Captain Hawthorne's voice was full of concern.

"He's dying," she stated quietly looking down on the man. "And there is nothing I can do about it. The power in him is eating away at his organs and poisoning his blood. I can see it, but cannot stop it."

"You can see it?

"I can see it in all of them. It's different from a true gift, more concentrated and it seems to shrink over time, in the others at least. For Reilly, it seems to be in some state of metastasis. The false humors are spreading rather than receding. And I cannot stop it from happening."

He took her hand and led her from the silent cell. "Even with your power, you cannot save everyone. Every healer loses patients. You'll need to learn to sublimate the grief into your determination to save the next. I can help you in this, and many things."

Elizabeth squeezed his hand, then pulled away. "I think I need to be alone for a while." She spread her wings and launched herself into the sky.

In the morning four days later, Reilly was found dead. During the post-mortem it was discovered that it was not the malignancy of the temporary gift that finally killed the man. It was a fast-acting poison taken with a drink of whiskey.

"This means that there is an enemy in our midst," Mr. Wickham stated at the subsequent informal inquest. Sir John and Sir William shared the chair as the local leaders and the officers attempted to determine the implications of the prisoner's murder.

"Which demands a tightening of security procedures and a general increase in vigilance." Mr. Bennet added. "This is a reminder that not all dangers come breathing fire and lightning. The mundane threats of the silent blade or the tainted cup can be just as deadly. I suggest we convene a subcommittee to investigate the actual murder, while the officers and magistrates separately examine their processes for securing prisoners and protecting our populous."

"Agreed," said Sir John.

"Capital!" added Sir William.

After the meeting Elizabeth approached her father. "Sir, have you noticed how solicitous Mr. Wickham has been towards Jane in the last few weeks?"

"I have, as has Mr. Bingley. And I cannot think he is best pleased with the development."

"Surely you do not think her affections have changed."

"No, but you will recall the warnings Mr. Darcy offered about this gentleman. I cannot think his intentions are honorable, but her dowry is insufficient to attract a fortune hunter."

"It is possible that she is unaware of the implications of their interactions?"

"That is entirely possible. Jane is by no means insensible, but she does tend to assign the most positive motive to the actions of others. It would not surprise me to find she simply thinks Mr. Wickham is being friendly."

"Mary's behavior has also changed recently. She is more withdrawn, and that is saying something for her."

"I have seen her spending considerable time at the writing desk. I believe she was inspired by her recent publication and has caught the political variety of the literary bug."

"Something with which you are intimately familiar, I believe."

"The politics I write about tend to be rather more ancient than hers, but yes, it is not an avocation wholly unknown to me."

"Well, I wish her joy of it. It seems a harmless enough pastime."

It was late January before the construction on Netherfield had progressed to the point where there was a habitable core to the house, even though several areas were still under renovation. This meant that the wedding of Jane and Mr. Bingley might finally be held. The ceremony and subsequent breakfast were the social event of the season for the residents of the Meryton area. Whatever plot Mr. Wickham had contrived had failed. The happiness of the couple was evident to all, eclipsed only by Mrs. Bennet's joy at finally having a daughter well married.


	34. Chapter 34

Darcy and his cousin arrived at Pemberley on a blustery winter afternoon. The cutting wind was a familiar feature of their home county to them both, if not a particularly beloved one. Darcy had decided the situation was urgent enough to justify the blatant use of his gift to fly a carriage with Colonel Fitzwilliam, along with their valets and luggage, from London to Derbyshire. Mr. Wickham had concurred. This allowed them to travel the 150 miles in a matter of hours instead of days. They alighted in the courtyard of Darcy's family home, startling the gardeners working in the yard and the maid sweeping the outside stairs. She ran into the house, to alert the butler and housekeeper Darcy suspected. The subsequent appearance of Jeffers, the venerable leader of the household staff, supported the gentleman's supposition.

"Mr. Darcy! It is good to see you home." Jeffers welcomed. "We had no word of your imminent arrival."

"As you can see, we were travelling in some haste. Please see that the Colonel's room is readied. Is my sister in?"

"Miss Darcy is in the music room. I must say, sir. that the instrument in that room has become somewhat worn over the years."

"I see. Thank you, Jeffers." The older man had been in service to the Darcy family for decades and had ascended to his current position while the elder Mr. Darcy still lived. Since he had known his young master as a boy, he seldom hesitated to offer advice in matters that fell under his expertise. Darcy never remonstrated with him for this impertinence. Instead he valued the aged retainer's sagacity. He made a note to himself that the piano forte needed replacing, perhaps as a present to Georgiana.

"Jeffers, you old dog!" Richard beamed, slapping the butler on his shoulder in passing. "What sort of trouble have you gotten into while the cat was away?"

"You seem to be mixing your metaphors, sir," Jeffers replied.

"Bad habit of mine. I'll endeavor to seek improvement."

"Very good, sir."

They entered the house and proceeded to the music room, where they could hear a Mozart concerto being played. Darcy quietly stepped into the room to observe his sister at her favorite pursuit. He had not seen her in some months and was once again surprised at how she had matured. She was tall, and though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance womanly and graceful. She was handsome, with sense and good humor evident in her face. She was currently concentrating on her performance, wringing every possible nuance from the instrument. Darcy and Richard stood silently while she completed the movement. Afterwards she turned to the door and offered a gentle smile to her guardians.

"You heard us?" Richard complained.

"I hear everything." Georgiana replied. Then he stood and moved to them, offering her hand in turn to each. "I am so pleased you have come. I was not expecting you. Did you come because of the attacks? Mr. Preston said he would be sending an express."

"Indeed. We left almost as soon as we received word. Have you been impacted?" Darcy took his sister into his embrace. "I would not have you hurt for anything?"

She returned the embrace strongly. "No. Mrs. Annesley and I have weathered the crisis with comparatively little intrusion on our daily routine. We have curtailed our regular trips to Lambton until we feel matters are more settled."

"That was a sensible precaution. Richard and I must talk with Preston and Mr. Harlow to get a better idea of what is going on. Afterwards, unless this requires immediate action, we will be back for dinner. I am looking forward to hearing about your last few months."

"And I am interested to hear more about your adventures in Hertfordshire and London, perhaps even learn a bit more about this Miss Elizabeth you wrote so much of."

Richard raised his eyebrow in curiosity at this. "Where have I heard that name before, hmm?"

Darcy ignored his cousin and asked his sister, "The message said that Preston had been attacked. Was he injured? Where is he now?"

"He was not injured greatly, though he is currently recuperating in his home under Dr. McGregor's care."

"Then, after changing from our travel clothes, we will go speak with him."

Mr. Preston was a former infantry captain that had returned from India after the death of his father, a local attorney. He was a wilder that had served with distinction, but returned to Derbyshire with no fortune. He had started as Darcy's father's sheriff, while Darcy was at Cambridge. He had performed his duties well over the years, keeping Pemberley safe during Darcy's extended absences. His gift was aeromancy, the control of air and wind. Darcy found him in his house in Kympton, the village just a half mile from the great house. Before arriving at Preston's they called at his nearest neighbor, Mr. Harlow, Darcy's steward and primary estate manager, to collect him for the meeting.

"Please tell me about these attacks." Darcy commanded.

"Sir," Preston said. His left arm was in a sling and he had a bandage about his left thigh. But he was moving well and seemed to have all his faculties. "About a week ago I started getting word from my bailiff in Hartshorne that there was some sort of giant bull running amok up there. I went to investigate and found evidence of something causing damage to fields and fences. Even one barn had a busted wall. Looked like something was trying to get to the cows. But I couldn't find whatever was causing the fuss."

"A couple of days later we got a report from down south of Lambton that there was some sort of monster there too. Not the same thing. This was some sort of wyvern or flying reptile. It's been snatching sheep from the pens. I saw this one. Long thing, about the size of a horse, with wings. I chased it for a bit, but it managed to evade my pursuit near the cliffs. I have men searching for it. A good musket ball or five should put paid to it."

"Finally, three days ago I was attacked whilst riding the fields west of Hailee and was set upon by three gifted attackers. They were a talkative bunch, claimed to be ExtraOrdinaries, flannelling on about taking the battle to your home as the next step in freeing all England from the … might get this bit wrong … the tyranny of the self-something elite. They managed to pummel me pretty good, but couldn't finish the job before I got away. When I got back I asked Mr. Harlow to send the express."

The steward took up the narrative. "Preston's men are patrolling and reporting back regularly. I've activated the bell watch. The towers are still there from your grandfather's time. If any monster is seen, the bells will ring."

"Thank you both for your diligence and quick thinking. You've done well." Darcy made sure his people knew he appreciated their work. "Make sure the staff at Pemberley know to use their bell should the need arise. Also, have your men be on the lookout for new faces in the neighborhood. Especially be vigilant for a Frenchman who, in London used the name LaFontaine. Although that is likely an alias."

"His real name might be Jacques deBussey," Richard added. Darcy looked at him quizzically. "Something W discovered in the last week," he whispered to his cousin, then turned back to the others. "But really anyone new is suspect and we should be informed." They all nodded their understanding.

That night the family dinner was a pleasant reunion for the three. Darcy discussed Bingley's unconventional courtship to Miss Bennet, while avoiding both the violence of the events and Miss Elizabeth where possible. Richard offered amusing anecdotes of his time on the Peninsula, mostly centered on his own foibles and mistakes. Georgiana entertained them with her attempts at hosting some of the other young ladies in the neighborhood in practice teas and dinners. They had even organized a recital at Locksleigh Hall. Mrs. Annesley, of course had chaperoned their efforts. After dinner Georgiana and Richard performed several duets, with Darcy as an appreciative audience.

When the bell watch finally sounded a few days later, Darcy flew Richard to the first tower and was told that the bull had been spotted at a nearby farm. Darcy resumed flight, while Richard sped along the ground. Richard's was a classical warrior set of gifts. He had the strength to lift a small cannon. His skin could withstand most blades and bullets. He was able to run faster than a horse, and maintain the pace for days at a time. On top of that, he had lightning reflexes combined with the senses and agility of a leopard. And he healed from his rare wounds at close to ten times the rate of a normal man. In the Army he made use of these gifts to excel in combat, which brought him recognition, decorations, and rapid advancement.

Anticipating their quarry, Richard and Darcy were armed with partisans from the armory room in Pemberley. These medieval weapons combined the advantages of both the boar spear and the halberd, and seemed custom made for hunting giant bulls. Richard also carried a heavy sabre, which, in his hands, could cleave through a horse lengthwise, and had from necessity on more than one battlefield.

Darcy, using the advantage of height, found their target first. "It's attacking the barn. Join me when you get there. I'll try to hold it. You skewer it," he called to his cousin.

Darcy slammed into the giant animal from above. It was the size of an elephant, with skin as black as pitch and horns on its nose and head. Even its tail was spiked. And it seemed to exhale short tongues of flame from its flaring nostrils with every heaving breath. Darcy felt the impact in his bones. But the beast seemed unaffected.

With a ringing battle cry, Richard slid on his knees under the creature, attempting to disembowel it with his partisan. The razor-sharp blade scored the hide, drawing a line of blood, but nothing more.

The monster recognized the attack and spun in an impossibly tight circle to slam into Darcy with its massive shoulder. The crown magistrate was sent flying into the side of the old barn, smashing through the thick wood and landing in a pile of manure. _Richard is never going to let me live this down_ , was his first thought.

As Darcy pulled himself out of the barn, Richard was baiting the bull by stabbing at its sensitive snout. He was leading it away from the barn in an effort to avoid any more damage and to prevent further injury to the farmers or their flocks. Finally, the bull had had enough and charged the colonel. Darcy was astounded as Richard leapt high, between the horns and flipped over the back of the beast. He left his partisan impaled in the back of the beast's neck like a picador's lance. Landing behind the bull, Richard drew his saber and slashed in the same motion slicing the left hamstring. The attack was not completely successful, but the bull bellowed in pain and floundered as it tried to find its footing on its now uncertain leg.

Darcy flew to the beast's back and gathered his gravitic gift to increase the pull of the Earth. The bull staggered for a few steps then collapsed to its knees. Darcy increased the pull until the ground began to compress beneath the giant beast. He tossed his partisan to Richard. "Do it."

Richard caught the polearm and circled around to the side of the animal. Taking care not to be caught in Darcy's gravity trap, he carefully aimed the weapon, then using all his strength, thrust into the space between the shoulder and the chest driving the broad blade into the heart of the monster. Between the crushing weight and the cold steel, the beast eventually surrendered to the inevitable.

"That's one . . ." Richard panted.


	35. Chapter 35

"Captain Hawthorne! You will have to forgive my confusion. I am not certain if that was a proposal of marriage or an offer to open a surgery together. You spoke significantly more about our future medical practice than any fondness or familial feeling." Elizabeth started pacing, her agitation clear in every step. She really had not been expecting the militia surgeon's proposal.

They had been walking from the encampment, where several soldiers had been injured in a training accident. They had worked together to ensure that none of the injuries would have long lasting impact. As had increasing been the case whenever their duties or social functions had brought them into company, Captain Hawthorne had once again been extolling the benefits that could be found if they were to combine their gifts and skills. She could tell he was excited by the possibilities for fame and fortune such a medical partnership in Town might bring them. On this day, that had somehow evolved into his proposing marriage as the obvious first step towards this most desirable future.

"To be honest, I must say it was both." Captain Hawthorne quipped lightheartedly. Elizabeth did not think he realized the full extent of her disquiet at the situation. "While it is true that I find you a most lovely, vivacious, and charming lady; it is your gift and your … pragmatic, shall we say … view of the world that makes me certain we would suit each other well. Your resolution to face the most horrific situations with aplomb and your ability to discern the requirement to forgo civility for violence when faced with the necessity are remarkable, almost … masculine."

"I am certain you intended that as a compliment," Elizabeth said. "But it is not. You have misunderstood my character completely. I am not pragmatic. Every sick child or wounded soldier that I treat tears at my heart. Every man I kill … kills me too."

"If you had approached me with honeyed words or declarations of love, I would have felt some obligation to acknowledge the honor you do me and offer my gratitude for your gracious offer. Instead, I will simply provide a polite refusal that we may resume our … professional acquaintance."

"But …"

"I believe it is time for me to patrol. I bid you a good day, Captain." With that, Elizabeth stepped off the road, raced into the woods, and left the confused man far behind.

She cursed his foolishness. He had all but ruined an effective professional relationship with his greed and presumption. Men could be such mercurial creatures; moving from admiration to matrimony with no consideration of the indispensable steps in-between. From a practical perspective, the match was not wholly unsuitable. He was, at least, from a landed family, even if his family's estate was smaller than Longbourn, and he was a third son. But to approach her with accolades for her practicality and manly deeds was unpardonable. As she neared her home, she realized the full import of her refusing an eligible proposal. If word spread, her reputation might suffer. Worse, if her mother heard, as she was certain to, for there could be no secrets in a small town, Elizabeth might never find a peaceful moment at home again.

When word finally did spread, a circumstance Elizabeth ascribed to Mr. Wickham's scandalmongering, Mrs. Bennet's reaction was worse than she had feared. For weeks, all she heard was how unnatural a daughter she was to refuse such an opportunity. Her relief was profound when her father summoned her to his sanctum, where her mother dared not intrude.

"Lizzy, please have a seat." He looked at her, holding a missive in his hand, his spectacles perched precariously on his nose. "Do I understand correctly that you are able to detect the workings of the temporary gifts instilled in these ExtraOrdinaries?"

"That's correct."

"And you can trace the diminishment of these effects?"

"Again, correct."

He sighed. "I have here," he gestured with the letter, "a request from the Alien Office, from Old Whisky himself, that you travel to Town to assist his people in their investigations of the phenomenon."

She immediately apprehended how a trip to London would remove her from her mother's company and constant condemnation. It would also take her way from Captain Hawthorne's heartbroken demeanor. She paid him the compliment of attributing his disconsolation to romantic disappointment rather than rapaciousness, though she could not feel certain in that assumption. Then she realized her father's agitation. "You do not approve of the scheme?"

"Scheme is a most apropos choice of words, my dear. I have known William Wickham since we were striplings. While I have trusted him with my life, I am not sanguine about offering him the same faith with yours."

"Father, you know I can …"

"Yes, yes … I do know you are both competent and resourceful. But this, to appropriate a maritime idiom, is an entirely different kettle of fish than that to which you are accustomed."

"If my reading is correct, there are very few somatic manipulators of my capabilities."

"That is true."

"It is quite possible that I am one of only a handful of people in the kingdom that can detect and observe these false gift spheres."

"Also true."

"The French agent represents a significant threat to us, both to the nation and to our family. If I am able to use my talents to help either find a way to undo, or even better, to preclude his tampering with the natural order, I must, in all good conscience, do my part."

"Daughter, you are far too rational for my own good."

"Then I may go?"

"I do not know if our dear Superintendent is really giving us a choice. But, even if he is, your reasoning is flawless, as is your sense of duty." He walked to her and kissed her forehead. "I will miss you. With both you and your elder sister gone, I will only have Mary to exchange rational words with, and those are far more likely to be political, or polemical, than I might prefer."

"If she even has time to speak. She spends so much time at her correspondence these days I hardly ever see her away from the writing desk. She is even neglecting her music."

"Is that so? I suppose I have not been my normal attentive self. I will be sure to make time to speak with her."

Three days later Elizabeth, and far more trunks than she felt strictly necessary, arrived at her Uncle's Gracechurch Street residence. She was exceedingly fond of her London relations.

Mr. Edward Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his elder sister, both in nature and education. After their father's death, when Mr. Gardiner was still in school, he left Meryton to be raised by his namesake, who was his paternal uncle. The elder Mr. Gardiner managed a shipping company that imported luxury items such as silks, gems, and rare spices from Asia and the East Indies. It was a very successful business and the Elizabeth's uncle inherited it upon the death of his uncle. He had expanded the company's trade routes and product lines, making astute choices and building numerous profitable relationships with other traders. Elizabeth was uncertain of her uncle's income, but knew it exceeded Mr. Bingley's on an annual basis.

Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favorite with all her Longbourn nieces. Growing up, Jane and Elizabeth had frequently stayed with her in town. The Gardiners had their own growing family, with four young children, two girls of six and eight years old, and two younger boys. All the children were fond of Elizabeth, even if she was not Jane, their favorite whose steady sense and sweetness of temper exactly adapted her for attending to them in every way. Elizabeth seemed to find herself more interested in teaching and playing with them out of doors, pursuits involving nature and lots of exercise. Mrs. Gardiner was not averse to the effect this had on reducing their near endless supply of energy, ensuring their early and extended slumber after their adventures with Elizzabeth.

All the Gardiners welcomed her upon her arrival. Calls of "Lizzy!" rang out from the four youngest. The parents welcome was more reserved, but no less warm.

"We are so happy to have you with us." Mr. Gardiner smiled.

"I hope it is to be an extended stay. The season will soon be upon us." Mrs. Gardiner had a mischievous look in her eyes which Elizabeth thought reflected her anticipation of having a single woman of the right age to display in the marriage market. While Mrs. Gardiner was not nearly as determined as Elizabeth's mother to see her wed; she was still intrigued by the social possibilities having a marriageable gentlewoman under her roof entailed. "Already we have several invitations, to which we are assured you are included. And we have our own regular artistic evenings, to which you will make a wonderful addition."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I must remind you, my time may not be my own. I have been called to the metropolis for a purpose."

"Yes, yes. But surely the Alien Office cannot need you during the evenings."

"We'll see, Aunt. We shall see. Now I think the children want to show me something." Indeed, they were barely holding back from dragging her to the nursery where they could have her all to themselves.

The next morning, Mr. Gardiner accompanied Elizabeth to the Crown Street headquarters of the Alien Office. "Miss Bennet?" asked a man just inside the front door.

"Yes, and this is my uncle Mr. Gardiner." She was still not yet accustomed to her assumption of Jane's title after her recent marriage.

"I'm Mr. Graves, Mr. Wickham's clerk. He is currently occupied and has asked that I bring you to the laboratory. I'm afraid Mr. Gardiner will not be able to accompany you." He turned to address her uncle. "We will arrange a carriage for to bring her home when she is done, sir."

Elizabeth's uncle looked at her uncertainly. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she assured him. "I'll see you when we are done here."

"If you're certain …" He looked hard at Mr. Graves, then squeezed Elizabeth's hand before taking his leave.

The nondescript functionary led her deep into the bowels of the surprisingly large complex. "We have captured three of the XOs …"

"XOs?" Elizabeth interrupted.

"The temporarily powered attackers we have were carrying these cards," he produced a cardboard plank with 'XO' printed on it. "Their preferred _nom de guerre_ is too lengthy to use regularly. And we are trying to quash the whole New Mohock deception."

"Perhaps you have some sort of precis of recent events and conclusions that I might read?"

"I will prepare something for you."

"In truth, Miss Bennet, I would almost rather you did not read our current assumptions. We are rather hoping you may offer a fresh perspective and new insight on this case." Elizabeth turned to find a handsome older gentleman approaching them. He looked somewhat familiar, but she knew they had never met. He stopped and took her hand. He bent over it and brushed his lips over her glove. "I am William Wickham. I first knew your father when he was younger than you are now. I must say, I can see no resemblance to him. You must get your beauty from your mother."

Elizabeth blushed. His compliment struck her as somehow inappropriate. She was not there as a maiden, but as a researcher. "Mr. Wickham," she acknowledged, removing her hand from his grasp. She realized he reminded her of his distant relation, the deceitful Lieutenant.

They made general conversation until they reached the cells holding the prisoners. The conditions were more agreeable than those at the militia encampment, but the function was the same. Elizabeth spent the next several hours in a trance-like state, examining the erstwhile gifts of the prisoners in great detail. She spoke her impressions and discoveries aloud, with Mr. Graves transcribing her words.

"The two most important questions are can you detect these 'spheres' and can you remove them?" The Superintendent queried when they met in his office for a recapitulation of her findings.

"Yes, I believe I can do both. In order to assess the first I should be shown a number of persons, unknown to me, whom I may examine. If some of these individuals are gifted, some not, and some with the temporary gifts and I can correctly determine which category each person falls into then we will know for certain. If I prove capable of such discrimination, then we can proceed to discover if I can teach other augers to do the same."

"It would certainly be a boon to have more than one person capable of such a feat."

"As for your second question, the only way to ascertain that ability is for me to make the attempt."

"Are you willing to do so on the morrow? We will need to determine the appropriate subject for such an experiment."

"I am. But I think it is best if I return to Gracechurch Street to rest in preparation for the attempt."

"Very well, until tomorrow then," He offered her his hand and she could not avoid complying without offering significant offence. Upon contact she was able to determine his gift, to compel truth. It was somewhat related to young Mr. Wickham's gift. She was growing less comfortable with the similarities between the two men.

That evening Mrs. Gardiner held one of her regular artistic salons. She was an aspiring socialite that had, over the last year, managed to create a place in the social scene. She was patroness to several aspiring painters, poets, composers, and musicians. At each gathering she would showcase the talents of two or more of these artists. She opened her salons to both the gentry and the crème of the mercantile class. Because of her husband's status, she attracted far more of the latter. But her careful selection of artists, and the general wealth of her other guests, attracted the most liberal, or financially interested, of the former.

Elizabeth, at her aunt's insistence, had acquired a new evening gown for the event. She was well received by the guests, with three attendees paying her particular attention. Her aunt had planted certain rumors about the lady from Hertfordshire's position, connections, and gifts which quickly circulated to various potentially interested parties. Elizabeth was accustomed to being seen as Jane's less attractive younger sister, or as her father's eccentric, if powerful, sheriff. At Gracechurch Street, she was treated as a prize worth pursuing by men of wealth, wit, and character, if not breeding or giftedness. To middle-class men looking to raise the status of their family and eventual children, she was quite the catch. It took some adjustment of her small town perspective.

She was not surprised to find that most guests at her Aunt's salons were firm Ordinaries. She realized the movement was rapidly becoming the political cause of the rising mercantile class. As only landowners were allowed a vote on parliamentary representation, the merchants and bankers who controlled a growing portion of the Kingdom's wealth found themselves resenting the system that deprived them of a voice in their own future because of the circumstance of their birth. Nations like France and America offered them an alternative model, and while there was no talk of sedition or revolution at these gatherings, Elizabeth became more cognizant of the widespread unrest that must eventually give rise to largescale change.

She just wished her sister Mary was there to discuss this new revelation.


	36. Chapter 36

_Dear Miss Mary B –_

 _I hope you will forgive the presumption. I have asked the editors of the Weekly Register to forward this missive to you. I just wanted to offer you my sincerest admiration and respect for your well-reasoned and skillfully argued letter of January 16_ _th_ _. Your thesis that the practice of limiting people's opportunities for success due wholly to an accident of birth is damaging to our nation, both because of the inherent individual inequity which bleeds away the impetus to thrive for the common man and the untold costs of the ongoing loss of untapped talent on both the economic and military welfare of our nation …_

 _Mr. Henry More, St. Albans_

 _Dear Miss Mary B._

 _I was most gratified to receive your kind personal response to my previous communication. I am curious as to your thoughts on Lady Caroline's most recent article in the Register. I wonder if she fully realizes the plight of the non-gifted. Even that term forces us to refer to ourselves only in reference to them, unless we accept their insulting appellations …_

 _Mr. Henry More, St. Albans_

 _Dear Miss Mary B._

 _I appreciate your desires to achieve progress without chaos. I just wonder how possible it is. And if the fear of repercussions should cause us to hesitate to push for change. I am not suggesting that these ExtraOrdinaries have the right idea, or at least I cannot say the extent to which they take their methods are at all acceptable, but …_

 _Mr. Henry More, St. Albans_

 _Dear Miss Mary B._

 _I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you to be treated so unfairly by the rest of your family, simply because you were born sharing the characteristics with ninety-seven percent of the kingdom's population. Including your mother and her family. It is so unfortunate that your own unique talents and intellect are so overshadowed by your sisters' gifts. Your letters in the Register demonstrate a strength of character and a keen wit, with which no mere gift can compare …_

 _Mr. Henry More, St. Albans_

 _Dear Miss Mary B._

 _I must wonder if these Mohock attacks are a true reflection of the feelings of a majority of the gifted towards the normal population. I would hope not, but how can one be certain? It may just be another example of how we are exploited and repressed by our overlords. For example, I know of one man, possibly the greatest genius of my acquaintance, whose tremendous talent is wasted as the clerk to a highly placed government official. He could perform his boss' role so much better than the old man, but is limited BY LAW to menial tasks. I apprehend that your potentialities are being equally discounted …_

 _Mr. Henry More, St. Albans_

Mary set down the latest communication from Mr. More. She was not certain that she agreed with his solutions to the problems they both recognized. He seemed to take a more strident stance on the need for direct action to raise the awareness of the issue among the general populous. She was more of the opinion that education and noncooperation might be more appropriate approaches.

As she strolled on the shaded lane, she pondered the tale he had told of his acquaintance in the government. She knew what it was like to have her prospects limited by the accident of her birth. Most recently, while she found Mr. Collins personally repugnant, she was mortified that neither he nor her mother had given her any contemplation in his obvious quest to marry a daughter of Longbourn. That he settled on Lizzy was no real surprise. But that she was not even considered was hurtful.

Her musings were abruptly curtailed upon her discovery of Lydia and Lieutenant Wickham walking together on the road to Meryton. Her youngest sister's face was flushed with some excitement.

"Lydia?" she asked. She knew that Father had forbidden all of them having any intercourse with this particular officer, though his reasons had not been made plain.

"Mary!" Lydia exclaimed.

"Remember what I said," Mr. Wickham urged Lydia. He then offered Mary a friendly smile and a bow, and took his leave.

"You know Father has made that man _persona non grata_ ," Mary chided.

"Oh … um …"

"Come, walk with me." Mary took her younger, but taller, sister's arm and tried to lead her in to the gardens. At first Lydia resisted, and with her physical enhancements, she proved impossible for Mary to compel. Then the younger girl relented and let herself be led. "Why were you with him?"

"We were just talking."

"About what?"

"Well …" From Lydia's countenance and address it was obvious to Mary that she had some secret she was anxious to share.

"He did not insult you, or impose upon you in some way, did he?" Mary sounded scandalized, though she truly felt her youngest sister impervious to insult and resistant to most forms of imposition.

"Oh no! Nothing of the sort." Lydia actually snorted. "Quite the opposite, I assure you. He'd heard of my conduct during the battle at Netherfield. It appears that it's been reported up the chain of command and he's been ordered by his superiors to approach me about a secret plan the War Office is considering."

"The War Office?"

"Yes. Mr. Wickham said that they've a shortage of gifted soldiers to fight the French and are considering a special unit made up of gifted female fighters." Lydia stopped and grasped both of Mary's hands in hers. "He was offering me the possibility of a position in this new, elite unit!"

She sounded so pleased with herself. Mary had to pry her hands free and turned her back on her sister. "This is just another example of how the government is overly focused on the importance of gifts."

"What do you mean? They want gifted fighters to fight the French gifted soldiers. Nulls can't fight the gifted. Everyone knows that."

"No, everyone does _not_ know that!" Mary whirled to face her sister. "Very few gifts can withstand a musket ball. Sir William was invalided out of the army because he was injured by a cannon ball fired by a non-gifted soldier. Generals Moore and Le Marchant were both killed by non-gifted enemies. There is no reason that, if they are opening the services to women, that all women should not be allowed to serve. It's just more of the same foolishness!"

"You're the one being foolish. Of course, nulls can't serve like this. Not even all gifted can. He said I was special."

"Arrgh!" Mary threw her hands up in frustration and stomped away. She knew that if she stayed, she would say something she would latter regret. She knew Lydia's attitude was neither uncommon nor deliberated. But it showed how far the Ordinaries had to go to get through to the gifted population, as they were the ones that controlled the decision-making instruments of the nation.

Her angry ruminations lead her to the bookstore in Meryton. This was one of her sanctuaries. While her father and sister Elizabeth were both great readers, they had their own preferred places and did not look upon the shop as a refuge in the same way she did. It helped that the owner, Mr. Heathcliff, was a staunch Ordinary. In fact, it was he that first introduced her to the ideas of the movement and encouraged her development as a freethinker.

"Miss Mary! How good to see you!" Mr. Heathcliff said. He was sitting at the low table around which he had situated several comfortable chairs. Seated with him were three gentlemen. Two were familiar to Mary – Mr. Greely and Mr. Lawrence; two men from the neighborhood who were involved in the Ordinary movement. They would frequently meet informally to discuss the issues of the day. The third man was unknown to her. He was a well-dressed man in his late twenties. He was looking at her. Mr. Heathcliff noticed and made the introduction. "Mr. More has come to Meryton to discuss a monograph he is preparing for eventual publication. Mr. More, this is Miss Mary Bennet of Longbourn. She is an ideal person to offer you criticism on your scholarly efforts."

"Miss Mary B?" Mr. More suggested. Mary was surprised to see her correspondent, but wondered if it might be him when she heard his name.

"Mr. More. It's a pleasure to meet you." Mary offered. "I do not believe you had mentioned that you were preparing a monograph. What is the topic?"

"I am writing on the cost of the wasted potential of British normals in the last century, as illustrated through three cases."

"Who are the illustrative cases you are presenting?"

"I am still deciding between five or six likely people, some military, some political, and one mercantile genius."

"And how are you determining the cost of the person to the nation?" asked Mr. Lawrence, an older gentleman who managed a small bank in Hatfield.

The discussion continued with all five participants offering opinions and ideas. After an hour, Mr. Greely had to return to his office at Ashworth and Mr. Lawrence realized that he too had afternoon appointments. As the impromptu gathering disbanded, Mr. More turned to Mary, "Might I request the pleasure of your company for a turn about the town?"

"The weather is conducive to a stroll." Mary was not sure what to make of the man. They stepped out and Mary hesitantly took his arm when he offered it.

"I must say it is thrilling to meet you in person," Mr. More stated. "I find it most agreeable to have such a face to put to the intellect displayed in your writing."

"Thank you. I admit I was surprised to see you at Mr. Heathcliff's. I do not recall seeing you there before."

"I have not been in the area long. I moved to St. Albans only a few months ago. I recently heard of Mr. Heathcliff and began a correspondence with him. Our meeting there was entirely coincidental, though fortuitous."

"How so?"

"I felt our correspondence had reached a rather delicate point. Given the topic of our discussions, I felt hesitant to offer further suggestions through such an insecure means of communication."

"I am not sure I understand you."

"You seemed troubled when you arrived at the shop this morning. If I might ask, what had caused your distress? I inquire because, from your taking sanctuary in Mr. Heathcliff's domain, I assume that you were upset by something dealing with the repression of normal people."

Mary looked at him for a moment, remembering the frustration she had felt after her encounter with Lydia. "I was simply upset with my family. What has that to do with our correspondence?"

"Your family, with whom I am familiar, though I did not know of your connection with them, are some of the leading examples of the system that stifles the normal folk in this area. I'd imagine you are intimately familiar with their paternalistic 'care' for the tenets and the draconian enforcement of the despotic domination of the ruling class."

"Mr. More!"

"Please forgive my candor, but you must be aware of these facts. I have seen it in your letters. I'd imagine one of your sisters was flaunting her gift over you or your mother. That was likely what had enraged you this morning. I want to help you find a way to free yourself from the shackles of your repression. Please let me help you." He looked at her with burning eyes and clutched her hand to his sleeve.

She pried herself free of him and said, "Mr. More, I think you may be under a misapprehension. While I do not always agree with them, I am loyal to my family and will not hear them spoken of in such terms. I am afraid I must return home. I bid you a good day and safe travels back to St. Albans."

She made certain he was not following her as she proceeded towards the safety of her home.

Upon her return to Longbourn, Mary was troubled. She was concerned that there was something untoward about Mr. More. It was possible that he was simply passionate about both his politics and his bourgeoning sentiments for Mary. But she doubted that somehow. After a time of pondering the possibilities, she realized that she needed to share her concerns with someone whose thoughts she respected and that she could trust. With Elizabeth in London, there was only one choice.

"Father, May I speak with you?"

"Mary? Please come in? How can I help you?"

"I have a very serious problem, perhaps two. One of them is I am not certain I trust you enough to talk about the other."

Her father blinked several times. Then frowned. "I am sorry that I have not shown you that you can trust me. That has been a failing on my part." He sighted heavily, then rose from his desk and walked around the room. He touched on several objects and artifacts he had displayed. He stopped, his hand resting on a worn piece of cloth under glass. "Perhaps I can show you that I trust you with my secrets. That may help you trust me with yours."

She sat back and nodded.

"When you were only four years old, a year after Lydia was born, your mother bore me a son."

Mary straightened in her chair. This was nothing she had ever known.

"Henry Bennet was born with green scaly skin and buds that would likely grow into wings and a tail."

"No."

"And, in accordance with the law, I took him to Liverpool."

"You banished your own son?"

"It was the hardest thing I have ever done. And the thing I most regret in a life with more regrets than most. It is said that even the young Prince was brought to the Isle of Mann some decades ago. They say he still rules the tiny kingdom of the grotesques. After I left Liverpool, having abandoned my son to those that would bring him to that accursed island, I could not return to Longbourn. My grief was too great. I would have taken it out on my wife and daughters, though it was none of your fault. Instead I left the country. I was in Switzerland when an old friend found me. He needed my help. You know my gift. Whiskey found a way to use it in aid of the war effort. I spent almost a year in the Vendée providing intelligence support to Royalist forces fighting against the Revolution. It was a horrible period."

"Eventually I'd had enough death to numb even my grief and shame. I returned to Hertfordshire."

"I remember your return. I had no idea where you had been or for how long, but we were all so pleased to have you home." Mary recalled.

"And now you know. None of your sisters know, nor does your mother share in all the details. I hope my telling you this may help you feel more comfortable in sharing your woes with me."

"It does. And it may be more pertinent to our current situation than you might imagine." Mary said.

"How so?"

"Give me one moment please." She left and a shorty returned with a handful of letters. "These are from a man with whom I have been corresponding in regards to my letters in the Weekly Register. As I have been hiding my identity, I did not feel the communication too improper."

"Hmm…" her father commented noncommittally.

"But today the author of the letters was at Mr. Heathcliff's shop. We met formally and spoke for some little while. I have some concerns that he may not be what he purports himself to be. I wonder if your gift might tell you anything more about him." She held out the letters. Her father took them and started holding them between his hands, one at a time. His eyes glowed.

After some minutes of his silent examination he turned to Mary. "These were written by a man using an alias. His real name is Richard Cranmer, and he is malicious in his intent. He means harm to you or yours. I cannot be more specific. Though if you were to bring me some personal article of his I could find out more."

"He signs himself Henry More. I think … I suspect he might be involved with the ExtraOrdinaries and their attacks here in Hertfordshire."

"Henry More … an historical allusion. I wonder that he would take that risk. It leads me to believe he is not a professional agent but an amateur or dilatant. I must admit I consider myself the latter when it comes to espionage."

"What should we do? The direction on his letters is in St. Albans. He obviously knows where I live."

"Thank you for trusting me to help you in this. Now I think it is time for me to send a letter." Her father wrapped one arm around her and offered her his comfort. She reveled in the warmth that she had been denying herself for far too long.


	37. Chapter 37

Darcy landed beside Richard and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well done."

"What are you going to do with the carcass? I doubt it's good eating. Though it looks like it could feed a whole village."

"If Miss Elizabeth were here I would ask her if it was tainted or …"

"Ah! The ineffable Miss Elizabeth," Richard smiled. "Her's is becoming a familiar name. You really must tell me more about this paragon sometime soon."

"There is nothing to tell."

"And this is not the time to not tell it. What are we going to do with the beast?"

"I suppose we should transport it to Pemberley, perhaps even to London."

"But not just yet." The military man looked at the sky, his hand rubbing his chin. "The weather should remain cold enough that the beast will keep for a while yet. If you will levitate it back to Pemberley, I'll remain and see to the tenants."

"But they are my tenants. The responsibility is mine."

"Indeed, it is, but they may be more comfortable talking to me rather than the Squire. Not to mention, there is no way I am carrying that carcass back to the house." He made a shooing motion with his hands. "Off you go!"

Darcy realized his cousin was correct in his division of labor. With a grimace he floated himself and the carcass into the air and began his return to his home. Upon his arrival at Pemberley, he found a battle underway. Four gifted assailants were being repulsed by Georgianna and the household staff. There were several figures already on the ground, either dead or wounded. Facing Darcy's family and staff was a giant woman, at least 15 feet tall, wielding a tree trunk as a club. With her was a man who appeared to be formed from molten rock or metal. A second man, wearing a bright red driving coat, was standing back from the melee shooting jets of water at the defenders. The final attacker almost surprised Darcy by attacking him in midair.

A young man surrounded by a corona of crackling energy soared past Darcy, leaving a wake of comet-like sparkling luminescence. "Should've stayed away, squire. Might've survived to mourn your dear sister," the attacker shouted as he passed by.

Darcy snarled and lashed out with a gravity pulse that missed the speeding flyer, dropping the carcass in the meanwhile. Below, he saw Georgiana unleash a sonic blast that rocked the giant on her heels and sent the molten man tumbling backwards. The third assailant managed to score with a cascade of water on a group of footmen preparing to fire a volley with fowling pieces from the Pemberley gunroom. His attention returned to his aerial opponent as the flier made a series of tight turns taking full advantage of the three-dimensional space and came at Darcy from below. The landowner used his gravity control to brace himself in the air as he brought down both fists in an overhand plow to smash into his charging opponent. The concussion of the impact sounded like thunder in the clear winter sky.

The meteoritic attacker plummeted towards the hillside below. Darcy sent a pulse to increase the pull of the Earth, speeding him on his way. A scream of panic reverberated through the valley as Georgiana narrowly dodged a blast of molten magma from the fiery invader. An assemblage of gardeners and grounds men began to pump water from the lake through a hose trying to dowse the burning enemy. A group of grooms, mounted on the stock from Pemberley's stables, were harrying the giantess with pitchforks and boar spears. One was swept from the saddle when she swung her makeshift bludgeon. The red-coated man seemed to open a circle in the air through which the human cannonball fell, crashing insensate into the grass at his savior's feet.

"Stop this!" Darcy bellowed. Several of his staff looked up at him, but the attackers ignored his call and took advantage of the defender's momentary distraction. The giantess managed to bowl over several riders and the molten man sent a jet of magma that encircled Georgiana, setting the grass ablaze. She let out a cry that pushed everything in a circle around her back at tremendous speed, pelting the man with his own ejecta and extinguishing the flames. Darcy cursed to himself.

He lunged at the walking volcano that dared to endanger his sister. As he flashed towards his target, a circle of grass appeared in the air in front of him. He swerved to avoid the portal by inches and sent a wave of gravity energy, hoping to catch the red-coated man on the other side. He was surprised to see how his wave disrupted the rift in space, causing it to collapse on itself.

The molten man had not missed the commotion and ejected a jet of magma into Darcy's face. Darcy deflected the stream towards the ground. He continued forward, slamming into the fiery fiend.

"You do not touch her! Never! Never!" He shouted as he pummeled the miscreant. Sparks and molten flecks spattered his clothes, scorching holes in the wool and leather. The ExtraOrdinary pushed back futilely with his burning hands. But Darcy ignored his protests until the target of his belligerence collapsed into unconsciousness.

Georgiana took the opportunity to engage the giantess. She dashed towards her, inhaling not only air but the actual sounds of the battle, creating a bubble of silence. She stopped and concentrated, then released a tightly focused beam of sound that impacted the giantess' head. The frequency was beyond human hearing, but the effect on her target was near instantaneous. The giant woman dropped her club and clutched her ears. She began to sway, then toppled to the earth like a felled tree. Suddenly the attacker disappeared through a portal that opened beneath her. Georgiana cried out in shock.

Darcy glanced to see what had troubled his sister. As he looked away, his foe disappeared in front of him, swallowed by another portal. He turned, and the red-coated man had gathered his three companions and was opening a portal to take all four away.

"Think on this Mr. Darcy, we can return at any time. You'll never know when. But we will return!" the man declaimed then a portal swallowed the team, taking them who knows where.

"Georgiana, are you injured?"

"I am well, brother." She looked at him with pride. "I was able to hold them off until you returned. Well, me and the staff. They did so much."

"You did very well. You all did. I could not be more proud." He gathered his sweet sister into an embrace. He looked around the field of battle that had been his childhood playground and saw the blood and broken bodies. He held Georgina close and thought she need not yet consider the butcher's bill. More debt to be laid at LaFontaine's feet.

Two days later the four villains assaulted Broadmore Abbey, a neighboring estate. The bell watch sounded, allowing Darcy and Fitzwilliam to arrive to drive off the attackers. Sir Henry was slightly wounded, but he lost half his famous horses and several grooms. The next day the prominent landholders demanded a meeting. Darcy agreed to host at Pemberley as he did not want to risk a repeat of the Red Lion attack in Meryton.

"Welcome, gentlemen. I believe you have all met my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, as well as my steward Mr. Harlow and sheriff Mr. Preston. I believe everyone else is well known to each other." Darcy looked around the table. As well as his cousin and staff, there were three other landowners. Sir Henry Locksley, Bt, was a rotund man of middle years and thinning hair. His hands were still bandaged from the stable fire. Mr. Richard Bentley was a weedy man a year younger than Darcy. He had taken control of his estate only the previous spring upon his father's passing. Mr. Percy Ottewell was the elder gentleman of the neighborhood. He was of Darcy's grandfather's generation and while he held the smallest estate, he automatically assumed a social prominence he felt he was owed due to his venerable state. "Mr. Ottewell, you asked for this gathering."

"I wanted to know what you intend to do about these hooligans." The older man pounded his fist on the table in high dudgeon. "They slaughtered his horses. They demolished my orangery. They have to be stopped."

"Perhaps we should call for the militia?" Mr. Bentley suggested.

"It's only four of them, surely we can defend our own estates." Sir Henry protested.

"Are you suggesting we coordinate our defenses?" Darcy asked.

"Don't be foolish boy. There's nothing to coordinate. For generations the Darcy's have protected this land. You're the Darcy." Mr. Ottewell pounded out his pique. "Do your duty now."

"Is this opinion shared by the rest of the table?" Darcy inquired quietly. He looked at the others. Mr. Bentley looked at him with hope. Sir Henry had the grace to look away. Even Richard seemed abashed, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I see."

Some days later Preston came to Darcy with good news. "We got one, sir!"

"The wyvern?" The gentleman knew his sheriff had been hunting for the flying beast.

"No, though it was due to that hunt that we did find the human comet. He was flying near High Tor. I managed to force him into the cliff face. Knocked him right out."

"Capital! Did you capture him?"

"We did indeed. As we were after the beast, I had a few of my bailiffs standing by with long guns and nets, just in case. Worked a treat on the fellow. We've got him tied up in the holding cell."

"Take me to him." Darcy was shown to the lock up where Preston mostly held the occasional poacher or tenant that had too much to drink. The captive was the same stocky young man in craftsman's clothes that had attacked him in the air. He was bound in a heavy net and chained to the floor. A large knot adorned his forehead, but he was conscious.

Darcy looked at him for a long time, saying nothing. As the younger man started to twitch, Darcy demanded, "Where is LaFontaine?"

"Who?"

"The man that gave you your gift."

"Ahh…him." The young man looked around the barred room and tugged gently on his chains.

"I do not think your friend with the portals can get you out of here, not without removing your legs."

"No, I think you are right about that." The prisoner sighed and shook his head. His accent was from somewhere north of Derbyshire, possibly Manchester. Not a local, but not too far from home. "I knew I shouldn'ta trusted a man calls himself Scrooby. He's at a farm nor'west of Pilston."

"Scrooby?"

"Dandy from down south. Talks like a lord, but claims to be an Ordinary insurrectionist. Sold us a castle in the air, I'm thinking now."

"What farm?" Preston asked.

"Not certain. I think someone said summat about the Henway …"

"Hemingway Farm?"

"Mighta been," the fellow agreed listlessly.

"Make ready, Preston. You're with me. We need the Colonel as well. You get him, while I pen a quick missive." Darcy found paper and pen and drafted a concise report to the Alien Office, just in case. He gave it to a bailiff with orders to send it express if something was to happen to him, or he had not returned by nightfall.

Mere moments later Darcy and Preston launched in the cool afternoon air. Richard and two bailiffs, all armed for war, rode in a coach carried aloft by Darcy's gravity gift. Preston directed the way to the unfamiliar farm. They arrived to find the molten man practicing targeting his magma jets at fence posts in a deserted paddock. The house looked like it had suffered a siege. There were several patches of burned thatch and at least one shattered window. Darcy landed the carriage, while Preston flew towards the house. The volcanic malefactor raised a warning upon sighting the incoming lawmen. Darcy new that they had to stop the portal maker before he could provide an escape for LaFontaine, or whatever name he had assumed. He bypassed the obvious threat in an attempt to secure their primary target.

He burst into the farm house, only to see the red-coated man disappearing with the giantess, shrunk to ten inches, and a well-dressed man about Darcy's age. The man who Darcy took to be the French agent was snarling at him, obviously upset at the interruption of his plans. Through the portal, all Darcy could make out was the stone basement of another building. He sent out a gravity wave in a desperate attempt to disrupt the portal before they could escape, but the spatial discontinuity seemed to dissolve before the wave reached it. The only clue that Darcy may have caused any disturbance was a bloody gobbet left behind on the floor. Darcy floated it to him, finally recognizing it for what it was … half of a man's left hand, complete with the outer two fingers. An ornate ring adorned the finger of the severed hand. Darcy carefully plucked the ring from its grisly perch and examined it. He did not recognize the heraldry, but he thought it looked French.

Just then, the unconscious form of the molten man burned through the thatch roof and landed in a smoldering heap at Darcy's feet. A moment later Richard, with a smoking fencepost slung nonchalantly over his shoulder, peeked through the open doorway and spied his erstwhile opponent. "Well that's him done then," he said with palpable satisfaction.

The next evening, after Darcy had dispatched an express rider to take his report of the events and the results of their interrogation of Featherstone, the molten man, and Percival, the human cannonball, to the Alien and War Offices, the three cousins were enjoying a quiet dinner at Pemberley.

"What will you do now, brother?" She looked apprehensive. "It has been so agreeable having you, both of you, here. Even with the horrible events, I have so enjoyed your company. But I suppose you must return to London."

"I have nowhere I must be until Easter, Darcy." Richard speared another Brussels sprout. "I can liaise here as well as anywhere. But I would never dare disappoint our Aunt."

"I think it would behoove me to spend some time overseeing the planting this spring. I think, dear sister, you may well be burdened with our company until we leave for Rosings." Darcy felt great satisfaction at Georgiana's obvious joy.

He also felt the need of the sanctuary of his familiar home to help him overcome his near infinite regret at letting the most fascinating woman of his experience slip through his grasp due to his hesitation and indecision. The thought of meeting her again in Kent as the wife of his aunt's rector was maddening. He knew he would need most of the intervening time to prepare himself for that unenviable future.


	38. Chapter 38

_Dearest Jane,_

 _Though I suppose I should call you Mrs. Bingley now. I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed the gifts you sent from Ireland. I am so pleased you enjoyed your honeymoon. I must admit to my indecorous curiosity as to the joys of the married state, but I am not so far lost to propriety as to actually inquire. Instead I will retreat to the more prosaic question of how you have found life as the mistress of Netherfield. I'm sure you are endeavoring to put your own stamp on the place. I do wonder if Mother is often visiting to assist you in learning your new role. That might be a mixed blessing. One thing all the neighborhood can agree upon is that our mother is a fine hostess and sets a wonderful table. On the other hand, she may have some trouble realizing that you must stand on your own, beside your husband, and not as her daughter to shape and mold any more._

 _I have been enjoying my time at Gracechurch Street. My Aunt, I think, is determined that I will be a success on the social scene. We have had two solons and attended no fewer than four events in the last month. It is very different for me to be seen as a sought after match, though I wonder how many of these potential beaux look at me as a means to an end, as did Captain Hawthorne, rather than a person to be admired for my own character. As I have said so many times before, I would so wish to marry for love …_

 _Your loving sister,_

 _Elizabeth_

 _Dear Elizabeth,_

 _I must warn you that the evil that has plagued our family since Jane's attack in November continues to actively seek to do us harm. A man whom Father assures me is associated with the false agents that freed the captives taken after the attack on the Red Lion has been attempting to work his way into my particular confidence by means of a false identity. Father has written to warn his contact in the government, but I felt it incumbent upon me to offer you a more personal warning. They continue to target the Bennets, for some unimaginable reason. You are unprotected in the midst of millions. You must take care to ensure your personal safety from threats both obvious and concealed. They struck at me through my greatest weakness, my unquestioning assurance in my own political rectitude. Only you may know what path they might take to assail you …_

 _Your humbled sister,_

 _Mary_

"It has taken some time, but we have finally prepared for you to test your ability to remove these false gifts from an XO." Mr. Graves stated. He had led Elizabeth to a different room than she usually visited when examining the prisoners. Strapped to a table was a battered middle-aged man with obvious signs of somatic manipulation. His arms were elongated and his body hirsute and muscular, making him resemble the hybrid mixing of a man and a great ape. He was conscious and struggling to break free of the shackles holding him to the table. Elizabeth reached out with her senses and was able to not only detect his giftedness at a distance, something she had only learned to do in the past weeks, but to determine his state was altered, rather than being a natural-born grotesque.

"Will Mr. Wickham be joining us?" Elizabeth asked. She was not over fond of the Superintendent, but thought he would wish to be present for such an important experiment.

"He may, but his calendar is terribly full. There has been a recent renewal of attacks. One additional question he has of you is whether you can determine how long ago a person was altered."

"He wishes to determine if this new wave of attacks is due to a new group of people and animals being altered? If it is, that might imply that LaFontaine is back in town." She noticed the man's lips tighten and felt his heartbeat accelerate.

"Exactly," he confirmed.

She wondered about him. Mary's warning and reminder that there was a traitor in the Alien Office were fresh in her mind. Mr. Graves seemed harmless, but she wondered at the distaste she felt from him. Her ability did not extend to allow her to read a person's emotions, but the physical reactions an individual had to a person or situation often gave her an idea of what they were feeling. She read his reactions to her as a subtle but persistent dislike.

"Shall I proceed?" she asked.

"Please." He replied. Again, his heart rate increased.

She entered. There were two armed guards flanking the door inside the room. She nodded to them. She had seen them before, but had never been introduced. They returned the silent acknowledgement. She laid her hand on the struggling man's arm and sent her awareness into his body. Before she could do more than locate the energy sphere that was her perception of the temporary gift that had been implanted in the man's body, he had surged up from the table, the metal bands that held his arms immobile snapping open.

The gorilla-like man swept Elizabeth into his grasp with one arm and reached down to free his legs with the other. He tumbled off the table as the two guards opened fire, avoiding both shots. Elizabeth regained her faculties to find the hand about her throat was squeezing.

"Stay back or I'll rip her head orf!" the ape man snarled. The guards had drawn swords, and each was pulling a pistol with his off hand. They hesitated, seeing Elizabeth in the brute's clutches.

"I think not!" Elizabeth said, and grabbed both his wrists, pulling his hands from her neck. He resisted, but she was stronger. She slammed him into the wall and held him pinned. Ignoring the kicks his stunted legs landed on her abdomen, she reached into his body with her gift and ripped the sphere from its place, sundering all connections to his corporeal self. He screamed and collapsed.

Looking around the room, Elizabeth noticed that Wickham's clerk was nowhere to be seen. "Where is Graves?" she demanded of the guards.

They looked around, then one raced to the door, only to find it barred from the outside. He pounded and yelled for their release. Elizabeth carried the unconscious man to the table, laid him back into his bindings, and bent the cuffs to enclose his wrists once more. The second guard began to examine the table, looking at the release mechanism.

"It's been tampered with," he said, pointing to a frayed wire that was part of the apparatus.

"With deliberate timing, I'm sure." Elizabeth added.

By the time the door had been opened and the office searched, Graves was nowhere to be found. Later investigations proved that Elizabeth could remove the temporary gifts and that there was a second, more recent, wave of altered attackers. LaFontaine had returned, but remained elusive.

Not all of Elizabeth's time was taken by her duties at the Alien Office. Mrs. Gardiner ensured that her evenings and days free were full of social engagements. It was on an afternoon excursion to the Royal Academy of Arts that the two ladies encountered Elizabeth's new sister-in-law, Miss Bingley.

"Miss Eliza! How unexpected to see you. I had no idea you were interested in fine art." Miss Bingley was accompanied by a youngish gentleman and another well-dressed lady. Miss Bingley did not introduce them.

"Indeed, while I am not a great aficionado, I do enjoy the arts in all their forms. May I introduce to you Mrs. Gardiner, my aunt. Aunt, this is Miss Bingley, one of Jane's new sisters. My aunt is acquainted with several of the Academy's members and was invited to the event. She graciously allowed me to accompany her."

"Ah yes, of Cheapside, if I recollect what Dear Jane has shared." Miss Bingley's sniff of hauteur was a trifle overdone, Elizabeth thought. "How do you come to be acquainted with the members?"

"I sponsor several of the students and Mr. Fuseli has suggested I might be interested in a new young man named George Hayter, thus our presence here today."

" _You_ are a patron of the arts?" Miss Bingley tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her astonishment.

"Oh, you must be _that_ Mrs. Gardiner," said the lady at Miss Bingley's side. "I've heard some good things about your artistic evenings from Mrs. Glynn."

"Oh, I am pleased she has remembered me." Mrs. Gardiner looked at Miss Bingley, obviously hinting for an introduction.

"This is Lady Sarah Spencer, and this is Mr. George Lyttelton, MP." Miss Bingley offered eventually. Both Elizabeth and her Aunt curtseyed. Miss Bingley indicated Elizabeth, "This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire."

"You family has a well-known history of supporting the arts, Lady Sarah. Do you often come to the Academy? This is my first visit." Elizabeth said to relieve the awkwardness of the belated and reluctant introductions.

"Not very often. Father has always been more interested in books than paintings. As a matter of fact … are you any relation to Thomas Bennet, the antiquarian? I believe he is from Hertfordshire."

"Indeed! He is my father."

"I have seen my father reading his book on ancient Rome several times. If memory serves me, Father even invited him to Holywell House in St. Albans not too many years ago to discuss it."

"That would make sense. Longbourn is outside of Meryton, not ten miles from St. Albans."

"Far too close for two Antiquarians to not find each other. I'd imagine your father will be receiving an invitation to some book club my father is trying to form. Something to do with Roxburghe's library."

"I'm certain my father will be interested. I have heard him lament that those tomes have been out of circulation for so long."

"And we all remember how well you like books, don't we Miss Eliza?" Miss Bingley interjected herself back into the conversation. "Mr. Lyttelton was just pointing out to me how art is another example of a virtue not encompassed in our commonplace understanding of gifts."

"Indeed," he agreed. "I was just pointing out that our society's preoccupation with gifts and the ranking thereof ignores the true accomplishments that can be gained, not through an accident of birth but through discipline and application, as well as innate aptitude."

"I agree," Elizabeth offered. "I recently read something very like that in a piece in the Register written by Lady Caroline Lamb. It is a cogent argument for the Ordinary philosophy."

"Ordinary! I assure you, madam, I am no Ordinary. I'm a Whig!" He seemed totally affronted and, offering a stiff bow, took his leave, Miss Bingley trailing in his wake. Lady Sarah, hid her grin with her fan and handed Elizabeth a card before following her companions. Elizabeth saw that it held her address, an invitation for further contact.

She turned to her aunt, "I think I may have offended the gentleman."

"He is one of the leaders of the Coterie, so you may well have mortally offended him by likening his argument to that of the best known Ordinary."

"Opps?"

For the rest of her time in London, Elizabeth was openly snubbed by random people, who she later found out were members of the Coterie, a group of paltrys with whom Miss Bingley associated. She did not encounter her sister-in-law during that time, so never discovered if the proud lady would cut her or not. Thus, she avoided precipitating a rift in the newly extended family.

It was the middle of February when Elizabeth received a note from her father calling her back to Longbourn. Mr. Wickham was forced to agree to her departure. After so many weeks away, she was anxious to return to her home.


	39. Chapter 39

"My ring! He took my ring!" LaFontaine screamed as Molly Gant tried to stem the flow of blood from his mutilated hand with a soiled scarf. He batted her away and the four people in the room watched in amazement as the vicious wound began to heal. First it sealed, then it started to expand. The flesh filled out the missing palm. Fingers sprouting back into place. After a few minutes the maimed hand was once again whole. The Frenchman cursed and grimaced the entire time, showing all how painful the rapid restoration was. Once his hand was fully healed LaFontaine continued his profane diatribe. Eventually Cranmer was forced to raise his voice to get the man's attention.

"Boss! They know about me. We need to leave as soon as we can."

"What?" LaFontaine turned and snarled at his lieutenant. "What do you mean?"

"Yesterday several men attacked my house. I got enough warning from my gift to get out before they arrive, but only by minutes. I don't know what gave me away, but I suspect it was related to the Bennets somehow." Cranmer said in a calmer voice. It was obvious to the experienced operative that the precognitive was attempting to reduce his leader's agitation by example. "I have no reason to assume they are aware of this house, but we are still in St. Albans which is far too close for my comfort. The only reason I stayed in this town is that this was the only location with which MacDill was familiar enough to create a portal.

"Then we need to move immediately." LaFontaine insisted. "Do you have a carriage?"

Cranmer indicated he had.

"Then we shall remove to Canonbury. MacDill, you'll drive. Molly, please find me a change of clothes. I cannot be seen in such a state." His hand swept his gory suit. "Cranmer, please send word to our friend in Meryton that he should meet with us in Canonbury tomorrow evening. We leave in thirty minutes."

The trip to Islington was blessedly uneventful. It allowed LaFontaine the time to reflect on the events of the past months. He considered the performance of his altered minions and the impact they had had on driving the British forces to redeploy to face an internal threat. After much consideration, he could only come to one conclusion. The plan was not working. And, without significant change, it was not going to work. There were simply too many English gifted and too few ExtraOrdinaries.

He reviewed the mathematics of inevitable failure. According to the best French intelligence estimates there were tens of thousands of gifted in the United Kingdom. They made up one and a half percent of the national population. That was on one side. On his side, he had found that only one in ten nulls had the potential to be successfully altered. For many his efforts had no effect. For three in ten, it meant a painful lingering death. And his alterations lasted, at most, a few weeks, and could only be repeated after a lengthy wait and only a few times before the altered individual's body broke down from the abuse. This meant that he could only produce a small number of ExtaOrdinaries, realistically no more than a dozen or two, at any one time. And that relied on him having sufficient people whom he could alter and that he could trust to follow his orders, often to the death. They would always be out-numbered, and in many cases overpowered as well.

He realized they could be terrifyingly destructive in small, out of the way, locations. But the remoteness of those locations made them less effective for creating a stir in the larger population. There was also the very real possibility of the local gentry of whatever location he attacked having sufficient power to defeat any force he could assemble. Altering animals into monsters was even less effective, as they were uncontrollable, and few could withstand the concentrated fire that even normal farmers and gamekeepers might bring to bear. They were more effective at causing chaos in a crowded urban environment. But not effective enough to justify the risk of his capture.

He needed to contact his superiors and alert them to the ultimate failure of this experiment. They would likely demand his return to France to find better ways of using his gift. Perhaps he could be better utilized creating a corps of temporary shock troops for use in specific battles. There was always a need for more gifted soldiers and sailors.

First, he would return to London and renew his attacks. The more distracted with his minions the British authorities remained, the greater his opportunity for escape. He knew he had to return to France. But before he quit the field entirely, he wanted to punish those most responsible for his failure - that miserable Darcy and the thrice damned Bennets.

And he had a plan.

# # # # #

George Wickham left the meeting with his French taskmaster in a state of high dudgeon. The man was mad, Georgie decided. His plans were foolhardy and would lead to the militia officer's certain capture and subsequent hanging for treason. Still, he was not sure what he could do to extricate himself from the madman's clutches. For a moment he considered simply throwing himself on Darcy's mercy, but realized that path also likely led to the hangman's scaffold. He resolved to put off the decision and indulge himself in the arms of his favorite local lass.

Two days later, Georgie found himself once more outside of Meryton, preparing for another clandestine assignation with the youngest Miss Bennet. He had convinced her to meet with him occasionally to improve her martial competences in preparation for her eventual application to the erstwhile special ladies battalion he had assured her was being mustered.

"But when will I be summoned?" she asked for the hundredth time. Patience was not her strongest suit, Georgie thought for the ninety-third time. But neither was it his, and he had to refrain from snapping at her in response.

"It takes time to convince the stodgy Army high command to accept such a radical idea. It may be that you will be the one that demonstrates the value of the concept to them. To prepare for that possibility, you should continue to secretly exercise as we have discussed."

"But it's so tedious to spend my time racing to the peak of Oakham Mount and back, or lifting stones in the old quarry." Her petulance rendered her surprisingly unattractive. "I know! Why don't we do that combat course again? I promise to not get carried away when we are sparing. Did you bring the muskets?"

"Not this time," He regretted introducing her to an exercise that included his shooting towards her with a series of pre-loaded muskets, while she closed on his fortified position from several hundred yards away. When she eventually closed to blade range, she often had proven too excitable and had managed to do him some harm whist he fenced with her. It was her favorite activity, but one he dreaded not only for the potential danger, but because it was so bothersome to prepare, requiring him to requisition and transport up to a dozen muskets and the necessary shot and powder. Making sure he fired near, but not too near, her as he advanced was also becoming more difficult as she continued to wear on his forbearance. Not that he was sanguine that any accidental strike would do more than spark her anger, not something he wished to confront. "We must be deliberate with your training, so as to avoid causing you to culminate prematurely. You must perform your best when the Generals call."

"Very well, but do you think it will be long?"

# # # # #

"I don't quite comprehend why you thought you could evade eventual detection," Wickham said in a calm voice. "I recognize you have always assumed your understanding was so far above that of us mere mortals, but the reality is that you are a clever lad and an able administrator. But you are no modern-day Aristotle."

"And you are no Cato." Graves countered. The former clerk was bound in a chair in an interrogation room. It was obvious from his bloodied condition that he had not been taken without a struggle. "You are simply a man that lucked into a position of power based on an accident of his freakish birth. In a fair world you would have been my clerk, if that."

While William Wickham gazed impassively at the prisoner, his memory ranged over the years of his career. Born to a landed family in Yorkshire, he had the education of a gentleman, even earning the patronage of the Dean of Christ Church while attending Oxford. After traveling and studying in Geneva, he returned as a barrister and magistrate, joining government service in secret. His dismantling of the Corresponding Society was the key to his first appointment as Superintendent of Aliens back in '74. It was undeniable that his truth speaking gift was essential to his successes in his subsequent adventures on the continent. Could he have succeeded without it? That hypothetical was beyond even his ability to answer.

"That may well be, though we will never know," Wickham said. "We were both born into this world. And you chose to foreswear your vows to King and Country. And now, unless you can convince me you have some great value as a source of information on the enemy you served, you will be executed as the traitor you are. What have you to say?"

# # # # #

Hamish MacDill looked through his portal over the Purfleet Royal Gunpowder Magazine. The five long, windowless brick sheds, with their sharp-slopping roofs and copper-lined doors, were built to store upwards of ten thousand barrels of gunpowder each. The depot was the central storage point for powder, before its distribution elsewhere for use by both the Army and the Navy. All that stood between this vital resource and its destruction by the Frenchman and his collaborators was a small garrison of sleepy guards. The Scottish ExraOrdinary was certain that they could take control of the fortified repository with their half-dozen altered radicals and grotesques, reinforced by the score of mercenaries LaFontaine had procured.

He wished that the capture and destruction of the strategic resource was their only concern. But the Frenchman was obsessed with attaining his revenge on the magistrates that had thus far foiled his plans. This obsession was likely to bring about their downfall. Already LaFontaine had shipped their permanently precognitive asset off to France. Cranmer was a fool and a bore, but his gift might have proven useful. But MacDill knew his master had no regard for the counsel of those he saw has his marionettes. The Scotsman resented the strings, but knew that these powers, temporary though they may be, were the best hope he had of personally repaying the gifted Sassenach elite for the tragedy they had brought down on his family over the years.

And, if necessary, he would defy even his puppeteer to reach that goal.


	40. Chapter 40

Elizabeth was both dreading and anticipating her return to her ancestral home. Her time in London must be counted as a success, both professionally and socially.

Working with the researchers at the Alien Office she was able not only to train several other augers to detect altered individuals, and discriminate between them and the naturally gifted; but she learned that, with effort, she could remove the temporary gifts as well. This last feat proved beyond the other somatic manipulators available to Mr. Wickham. Her success caused her to consider the possibility that she might also be able to instill these temporary gifts as well, though she had kept that prospect to herself.

On a social level, she found that given the larger society of London she was much more desirable as a potential match. She also found that there were a greater variety of men to consider as future partners. The drawback being that she found herself constantly contrasting each man to a certain Derbyshire gentleman who, unfortunately, belonged to another woman.

She dreaded the resumption of the hectoring her mother had visited upon her since discovering her refusal of Captain Hawthorne. Even the rare maternal correspondence from Longbourn had continued the remonstrations of which she was so weary. As was proper, she had received no word directly from the surgeon, but his compliments had been passed along in her father's letters, though always with a sense of whimsy. She was not anticipating their eventual, inevitable reunion with equanimity.

But, as the familiar lanes and fields appeared out of the carriage windows, she found herself relaxing, releasing tensions that she had not been aware she had been carrying. Her breathing deepened and a fond smile made its way onto her face as she basked in the familiar scents and sounds of home. Her father was waiting in the doorway as the carriage pulled into the courtyard. She stepped out and into his waiting arms. "Welcome home, daughter."

"Still unmarried, I see," Mrs. Bennet stated flatly upon meeting Elizabeth in the sitting room. "It is too bad that you wasted so much time with men's affairs, and not on finding yourself a man. I had hoped for more from my sister."

"I am happy to see you are doing well, Mother."

Elizabeth turned to see Mary and Kitty waiting with joyful greetings. Lydia was out on an errand. After a number of embraces, the family settled in for the afternoon. The youngest daughter returned late that afternoon, looking flushed and happy. That evening Jane and Charles, as he insisted on being called, joined them for a reunion dinner.

"In your absence, I have been returning the favor owed to you for your years of service, by extending my own patrols to include Longbourn," Charles said with a smile. "It has been quiet, and I admit I lack your dab hand at healing or the veterinary arts. But the tenantry seem to have survived the deprivation."

"I appreciate your assistance, as does my father I am sure," Elizabeth replied. "Lydia, perhaps you would consider patrolling with me some mornings. It would be good to have more resources to bring to bear should the need arise again. You certainly proved your mettle after the ball. I will be going to visit Charlotte in a few weeks. You might be able to lighten Father and Mr. Bingley's load."

"That would be wonderful!" the youngest Miss Bennet enthused. "I'm certain I could be of real help. I have been … that is, I would be very glad of the opportunity, Lizzy."

"Then be prepared. I patrol early."

"How early?" The younger girl sounded suddenly somewhat less eager.

The following days were an odd mixture of happiness and heartache. She relished the time she spent with Jane, but recognized the gulf which was growing between them as her sister grew into her new role as Charles' wife. Elizabeth took pleasure in reconnecting with the denizens of the estate, but was beginning to realize that, while still her home, Longbourn was not her future. And that time and fate would separate her from them eventually.

She met with Sir John and the militia officers, to brief them on the events in London and those discoveries that the Superintendent had agreed to make public. In this role, she found professional satisfaction and validation of her value as more than a potential wife and mother. At the same time, she realized that Captain Hawthorne had not wholly abandoned his dreams of a future with her. She was convinced that he saw her as a means to an end rather than as a woman to be cherished.

His persistent intimations of the prosperous future they might have together reminded her of the man from Derbyshire, with whom she had developed a real partnership, both professionally and personally, or so she had thought. She compared the behavior of the two gentlemen and found the physician wanting. Her thoughts often wandered to Mr. Darcy, much more so in Hertfordshire than in London. She realized, as she came upon the clearing where the Strangers had camped, it was because the fields and forests which she had known all her life now contained constant reminders of her time with the man who still held her heart. As pleased as she was to be home, she began to look forward to leaving for Kent, not so much because of the destination, but because she was finding Hertfordshire harder on her heart than she had anticipated.

Lydia had joined her on her patrols on three different mornings, though each time she complained when they found nothing amiss. On the fourth day, the younger girl cried off, claiming she was feeling poorly. Therefor Elizabeth was surprised to catch her scent leading off the estate towards Oakham Mount. She followed the trail at a desultory pace, until her sharp ears caught sound of gunfire in the distance.

She raced towards the shots, bounding through the woods like a hart. On the far side of the Mount she found her sister sprinting uphill towards Lieutenant Wickham, who was firing muskets down at her as she ran towards the crest. Lydia dodged the incoming shots, taking full advantage of the trees, rocks, and other covers the hillside provided. In her hand she carried a saber.

Elizabeth saw red and immediately pounced on the militia man attacking her sister. She wrenched the weapon from his hand and slammed him against a tree. As she drew back her hand to deliver a fatal blow she heard Lydia crying out. "No, Lizzy! Don't hurt him!"

The older sister stopped and looked over her shoulder at her rapidly approaching sibling. A part of her noticed the grace and speed with which Lydia moved through the woods. She was barely winded when she arrived. "Don't hurt him. We were just training."

"Training?" Elizabeth demanded. She turned to Wickham and growled out, "What is the meaning of this? Tell me and know that if I am not satisfied with your explanation I will visit such wrath upon you that the day would quake to look upon."

"Ergh …" the militia officer batted feebly at her hand, which held him tightly by the collar, causing his stiff stock to bite into his throat. She glared at him, but loosened her grip. At the same time, she ripped his sword from his side, tossing it into a nearby bush.

"Talk!"

"It … it is as she said. We were training." The man's silver tongue tried to make the statement less nonsensical. With one finger touching his skin, Elizabeth blocked his gift. She did not need him confusing the situation further.

"Training for what?"

"He can't tell you. It's a secret!" Lydia crowed. Elizabeth knew her youngest sister relished the idea of having a secret from her.

"Exactly," Wickham agreed. "I am afraid you are not cleared for the information. But, if you will allow me to contact the necessary people, I may be able to get permission to read you in."

"I think we shall contact the appropriate people right now." Elizabeth said as she stunned Wickham and secured his hands behind his back with his belt. "We are going home right now. You will have to tell Father your secret, Lydia. And we will all have to hope that this debacle can be kept secret."

Employing all her skill at stealth, Elizabeth managed to bring her prisoner to Longbourn without being seen, trying to prevent exposing the family to ridicule. Needless to say, her appearance with her captive was not well received at home. After sending Mrs. Bennet to her room for a fortifying rest, Mr. Bennet interrogated all three of those involved. Wickham maintained the secrecy of his purpose, claiming operational security. As Lydia was adamant that nothing untoward had occurred Mr. Bennet was stymied.

"While I am certain you are a scoundrel, sir, I cannot prove it at this time. Nonetheless, I forbid you from ever seeing my daughter again, sir. If you attempt to do so, if I ever see you around my property again, I will bring my complaints before your Colonel. If that does not give me the satisfaction I require, that I will call upon you for that satisfaction. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?" Elizabeth had never heard her father so angry before. She was almost surprised he did not call the villain out at that moment.

"You do, sir. I will take my leave. My compliments to your wife, sir. Good day."

Lydia was disconsolate that she was restricted to the house until she offered the reason behind her behavior. She maintained that the secret of her actions was too important to reveal. And she made plain where she placed the blame for her current circumstances, squarely on Elizabeth. Between her hostile sister and her deeply disappointed mother, Elizabeth's peaceful domesticity was a thing of the past. This only increased her anticipation for her journey to Hunsford.

When the trip finally came, Elizabeth could not be more relieved. Even her father received some of her growing disapprobation. He had relented and released Lydia on her own surety. Elizabeth had argued against the decision, but her father could not abide the constant tumult keeping his youngest daughter a virtual prisoner entailed. Instead, he assured Elizabeth that he had spoken to the Colonel about the situation, and had that officer's pledge that Lieutenant Wickham would be kept too occupied to further trouble his daughter.

"You must be aware," said Elizabeth, "of the very great disadvantage to us all, which must arise from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner. I urge you to judge differently in this affair."

"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known, you must be respected and valued. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia remains in durance vile. Let her go. Sir John is a sensible man, and will keep Wickham out of any real mischief." When it looked as if Elizabeth would renew her objections, he finally said, "It is done, Lizzy. Please do not concern yourself with it any longer."

With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion continued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not in her nature, however, to increase her vexations by dwelling on them. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her disposition.

On the 5th of March, Elizabeth set out with Sir William and Maria Lucas to visit Charlotte in her new situation. Once they had passed the familiar environs of London, every object in the day's journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth. She relished the opportunity to see new places and every novelty was a source of delight. When they left the high-road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side.

Elizabeth's smile dimmed at the recollection of what she had been told of its inhabitants. Knowing that Mr. Darcy's betrothed was so close diminished her delight at the prospect of being reunited with her dearest friend. At length the Parsonage was discernable. The garden sloping to the road, the house standing in it, the green pales and the laurel hedge, everything declared that they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at a small gate, which led by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole party. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing at the sight of each other.

The evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news, and telling again what had been already written. When it ended, Elizabeth, in the solitude of her chamber, meditated upon Charlotte's degree of contentment, acknowledging the slight but noticeable improvement in her husband's behavior and bearing, recognizing the comfort of her new home, and conceded that her friend had made a prudent match. When the invitation to dine at Rosings after services on Sunday came, Elizabeth was more interested in seeing this other great influence on her friend's life than she was dreading meeting with her romantic rival.

Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in what they were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner might not wholly overpower them. When the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to Elizabeth, "Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us, which becomes herself and daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest. There is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved."

"A most proper sentiment," Elizabeth agreed.

As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. When they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm. Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. She had heard little of their hostess, save from her cousin's wholly biased accounts. That Lady Catherine was related to Mister Darcy suggested that she was likely socially awkward, but decent enough at heart. Elizabeth wondered if her providing a living to the overly obsequious Mr. Collins was a sign of subtle charity, giving him such a patron to expend his admiration upon.

They followed the servants through an ante-chamber, to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and a lady introduced as Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her ladyship, with great condescension, arose to receive them. In spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had but just courage enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word. And his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to look. Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene, and could observe the ladies before her composedly.

Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome. Her air was not conciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them such as to make her visitors forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered formidable by silence; but whatever she said was spoken in so authoritative a tone as marked her self-importance.

When, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment she soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the daughter, she was astonished at her being so thin, and so small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies. Miss De Bourgh was pale and sickly; her features, though not plain, were insignificant. Something about her led Elizabeth to desire to touch her, to assess her health and even the state of her gift. Her essence seemed damaged somehow, though without further examination, Elizabeth could not be certain as to the nature of the imbalance.

She thought to herself, _No! She will not do for him. She cannot make him a proper wife._


	41. Chapter 41

A month and a half had not been long enough for Darcy to properly prepare himself to encounter Elizabeth as Mrs. Collins with any degree of equanimity. But he could not shirk his duty to his Aunt. So, on the Ides of March, he, his sister, her companion, and Richard left Pemberley for a leisurely journey to Kent. They took several days to make London, then stayed at their townhouse for two days before setting out for the final fifty miles. Darcy spent much of the trip in the saddle, riding alongside the carriages. Richard joined him on occasion, but claimed he rode enough in Spain that he needed the respite. Even Georgiana spent some time on horseback, though the crowded road conditions did not make for a pleasant equestrian experience. They arrived at Rosings Park late on the evening of the twenty third.

"Darcy, it is most agreeable to see you again," Lady Catherine admitted upon their entry into the sitting room. She rose from her throne-like chair and offered her cheek for a kiss. "And you as well, Richard." He also offered her a nephew's kiss. "I had not expected to see our niece on this visit. If I had not heard your voice when you passed Hunsford, I would be most displeased with the surprise. You know how I prefer to plan ahead."

"I'm sorry, Aunt," Georgiana started, only to be cut off.

"Don't be silly, child. You are always welcome. I simply assume that the lack of forewarning was some sort of childish prank on your cousin's part." She scowled at Richard who smiled in response.

"I'm sure the missive must have simply gone astray," Darcy interjected. The Colonel had assured Darcy that he would send word of their expanded party.

"I think you know better than that," his Aunt rejoined. "I know I do. I could hear his muffled snickering from a mile away."

With a final glare in the Colonel's direction, she clapped her hand and said "But enough of that. Come here my dear girl." She drew her niece into an embrace. If not exactly warm, it was loving.

"This is my companion, Mrs. Annesley," Georgiana introduced with unseemly informality. Darcy was a touch shocked, but realized his sister was making a statement to their overbearing aunt. The young woman had changed since the events at Pemberley the previous month. Her success in combat had given her a new measure of confidence. He wondered at how that would fare against his aunt's strength of character. He hoped the clash would not be too bloody.

"Very good. We will have a room made up for her near yours. She and Mrs. Jenkinson will have much to talk about, I'm sure." Darcy winced at her rudeness. Lady Catherine took his arm, and Georgiana's and drew them to a sofa. "Now tell me why we are to be blessed with my niece's presence. Not that you are not welcome, my dear. But as I said, we were not expecting you."

"It was not safe to leave her at Pemberley," Darcy replied.

"Whatever can you mean?" his aunt interrupted.

"Some weeks ago, we were attacked by a group of radicals," Darcy stated.

"We think Darcy was their particular target, but they attacked the estate while Georgiana was there alone to draw him from town. They attacked again some days later." Richard added.

"Outrageous!"

"Indeed," Darcy agreed perfunctorily. "But you can see how it would be insupportable for me to allow her to continue in such an unguarded circumstance. Thus, her accompanying us on our annual visit."

"Of course. You did the right thing," Lady Catherine declared. "I would like to speak with you more about these attacks. I am not sanguine that Old Miller is sufficient protection for Rosings given the changing security conditions."

The discussion continued into the evening. That night, as he was preparing for bed, Darcy reflected that any conversation with his aunt was likely to highlight the peculiarities that her gift had engendered in her social interactions. She was able to hear speech in a radius of almost five miles. In fact, she could not help but hear _all_ speech within that radius. To preserve her sanity, she had to train herself to be able to ignore much that she did not want to hear, which included the vast majority of what went on around her. Even with that ability, she could not but be aware of peoples' foibles, secrets, and, most damning, their honest opinions of her. These two factors, her intimate knowledge of those around her, and her requirement of ignoring that which she did not want to hear, shaped how she interacted with the world. Darcy still thought of her as a caring, if overly officious, relation.

At breakfast the next morning Georgiana said, "Anne tells me that you have had some young ladies visiting in the past few weeks."

"Yes, my rector, Mr. Collins has a new wife, a most genteel sort of lady. She has been hosting a visit from her sister and one of her friends from her former home."

"I would very much like to meet them," Georgiana said, looking to Darcy.

He remembered a time when he had thought Miss Elizabeth was exactly the sort of lady whose example he wished his sister to follow. Even if he could not have her for his own, there might still be some way she could be a positive influence on Georgianna's life. "I think that would be a good idea."

"We are planning to have them join us for dinner on Thursday," Anne supplied. Darcy thought her condition might be deteriorating. She had been born sickly, with a borderline gift that might have seen her banished as a grotesque in a family with less wealth and status. Her condition had never improved. At one point, after Sir Lewis' death, Lady Catherine had suggested quite strongly that Darcy was Anne's only hope of matrimony and a normal life, as he knew of her condition and could help her continue to hide it. Neither Darcy nor Anne had supported the plot and Lady Catherine had given up the idea. But he did care for her as a close relative and wondered if Elizabeth might not be able to assist her in some way with her healing abilities.

"Thursday…" his sister pouted.

"If that is too far in the future, you could always pay a call on the parsonage. I'm certain Mr. Collins would appreciate the condescension." Anne said.

"Please do not mock our spiritual advisor in company." her mother chided.

"But Aunt, we are not company. We are family." Richard's quip brought out several smiles, if no one was so lost to propriety as to actually laugh.

"Might we call upon them today, Brother?" Georgiana asked.

He sighed silently and inwardly prepared himself to meet the holder of his heart as a common and indifferent acquaintance. "We may."

Late morning found Darcy, his sister, and Richard making their way across the verdant grounds of Rosings to the humble parsonage of Hunsford. A maid answered the door and brought the group into the small parlor where Darcy found Elizabeth standing next to her friend, Charlotte Lucas. Standing in front of the window was another lady, younger than Elizabeth. Darcy could not recall her, assuming she was one of her younger sisters, with whom he had very few dealings during his time in Hertfordshire.

After being announced, Darcy took it upon himself to make the introductions. "Mrs. Collins, may I introduce to you my sister, Georgiana and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"I am most happy to make your acquaintance," replied Miss Lucas. "May I introduce my sister Maria Lucas and my dear friend Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Darcy colored, perplexed, looked doubtingly, and after some hesitation, said "Miss Bennet?"

"Mr. Darcy?" she replied, concern evident in her voice.

Darcy gasped loudly, then turned and almost ran out of the room. He moved blindly, and as soon as he had left the cottage, the tears of a strong man breaking unexpectedly rolled down his cheeks. He stopped by a tree and leaned against it, seeing nothing of his surroundings. Eventually, a hand on his shoulder brought him back to himself.

"Mr. Darcy?" It was Elizabeth.

He turned to her. "You are not married?"

"I am not."

"I was led to believe that you were destined for Mr. Collins."

"He may have had some inclination in that direction, along with my mother. But I never did. And, in the end, he chose more wisely." She looked at him with sadness. "But why should it matter? You are to wed Miss de Bourgh, are you not?"

"I am not. And while her mother had, for some time, promoted the idea of such a joining of our estates, neither my cousin nor myself have ever shared in her desire. We care for each other as family, nothing more."

At that, it was Elizabeth's turn to stagger and grab onto a paling for support. Darcy wondered how they could have both been so misinformed … then he recalled the evening he had first heard of Elizabeth's engagement … from Wickham. "That dastard!" he exclaimed.

This seemed to shock Elizabeth back to her senses. "What? Who?"

"From whom did you hear I was to marry my cousin?" he asked, taking her hand.

She reflected silently for a moment, then replied angrily, "Lieutenant Wickham!"

"Exactly. He is the one that originally informed me of your betrothal as well. How! How can I continue to fall for his treachery when I am so familiar with his deceitful ways?"

"I want to know why. Why would he do such a thing? I have no doubt that he did this despicable thing, but I do not understand his motives."

"It could be as simple as him wanting to hurt me so deeply by depriving me of any hope of future happiness. He hates me that much." Darcy said, heedless, in his anger, of the implications of his confession.

Elizabeth stared at him silently, then whispered, "Am _I_ your hope for future happiness?"

He stopped and looked into her eyes. He realized that he had never relinquished her hand. It was alive in his. With no regard for propriety or prudence he answered honestly. "You are my only hope. Without you I have been lost. Alone in the bosom of my family. Desperately seeking some justification for my continued existence. Without you I am … nothing."

Her breath hitched. Her eyes burned into his. And her grip on his hands would bend steel.

"Please save me from that desolation," he continued. "Please take my hand and be my partner, my wife."

"You are my future. And I am yours." She pulled at his hands. This time he would not resist. He leaned forward and their lips, gently, touched. That first contact made the world stop. Some unknown time later they pulled back. The second kiss was more passionate, but no less tender. They were lost to the world.

"Ahem!"

Darcy jerked back and instinctively stepped between Elizabeth and the sound. When he saw it was Richard, followed by Georgiana and the Lucases, he was mortified, not for his sake, but for his lady's.

"I assume this is the ineffable Miss Elizabeth of whom we have heard so much." Richard smiled at his cousin. "Congratulations, old man. And well done!"

Elizabeth began to step away from him, her face blushing red. Darcy strengthened his grip and pulled her gently towards him. She had no reason to be ashamed.

"Richard, Georgiana, Mrs. Collins … As you may have heard, Elizabeth has done me the inestimable honor of accepting my hand in marriage." Darcy's voice was filled with pride and joy. Elizabeth gazed up at him with great affection.

"Oh Lizzy, I am so happy for you." Mrs. Collins offered.

"Brother! I look forward to meeting my future sister." Georgiana smiled shyly. Elizabeth stepped away from Darcy and held out her hands, one to her longtime friend and one to his sister.

"Thank you for your best wishes," she said to Mrs. Collins. To Georgiana she replied, "I have heard such good things about you, Miss Darcy. I just know we shall become great friends."

"I suppose you must now beg permission from this lady's father, old fellow?" Richard said quietly as he shook Darcy's hand.

"I do not think that will be an issue," Elizabeth said. Darcy, well aware of the acuity of his beloved's hearing, grinned at Richard's chagrin. "My father has the greatest respect for Mr. Darcy. I cannot see him offering any real impediment, though he may make sport of us for our folly in allowing Lieutenant Wickham to offer such interference to our reaching this happy conclusion sooner."

"George?" Georgiana asked in a tremulous voice.

Darcy strode to her and took her hand. "Once again he has managed to harm our family."

"I think it is time we ended his interference, once and for all." Richard growled. Darcy looked over his sister's head and nodded his silent agreement. He was morally opposed to dueling, but felt it might be their only recourse against the dastard's continued depredations.

"I think this might be an appropriate occasion for you to make use of the speediest method of travel to Hertfordshire." Richard suggested.

"I think there is no great need for such precipitancy. My father will still be there in several days or several weeks," Elizabeth countered. "But I must admit, having just reunited, I am loath to lose your company for the days travel by horseback might entail. I will not attempt to influence you either way." She grinned impudently.

"I feel a great deal of urgency to formally secure our betrothal. I think it a worthy cause for flaunting my ability, just this once. I should be able to reach Longbourn in under two hours. If your father is amenable, I should be back for dinner this evening."

"And if he is not?" Richard jibed.

"Then I will stay as long as it takes to wear down his resistance and achieve my heart's desire."

"Oh, that is so romantic!" Miss Lucas sighed.

"What of Lady Catherine? Surely you must inform her of your departure." Elizabeth asked.

"Believe me, she already knows." Richard laughed.

With a final kiss of her hand, Darcy bid his beloved _adieu_ and took to the air.

His reception at Longbourn, once he had secured Mr. Bennet's blessing, was everything he might have feared from his future mother-in-law. But Darcy was able to see she was well meaning, if not well informed or well bred. She was no worse than many matchmaking mothers he had met over the years, and her daughter's engagement to such a catch seemed to raise Elizabeth in her mother's estimation. If Mrs. Bennet was the worst aspect of marriage to his beloved, he was well satisfied.

He was encouraged to stay for dinner and could not refuse without offering offence. Bingley and his new bride joined in the celebrations, and Darcy was happy to see his old friend. As the time for the meal approached, Darcy noticed some disturbance in the house.

"Kitty, have you any idea where you sister has gotten off to?" Mrs. Bennet inquired. "I cannot think I have seen her since … was she at breakfast?"

"She was not," Miss Mary reported. "I believe I heard her stirring early this morning. I'd assumed she was patrolling before breakfast, as Lizzy often does."

"Kitty?" Mr. Bennet said, looking more closely at his fourth daughter. The girl looked away, her guilt evident. "What do you know of this?"

"Nothing!" she declaimed. Her father's gaze grew sterner. Finally, she relented. "She left a note. She said not to give it to you until you asked."

"And where is this note, child?" her father asked quietly. She raced upstairs and momentarily returned with the missive in hand. Her father took it and quickly perused it.

His face drained of all color and his hand shook. Without a word, he handed the note to Darcy.

 _Father –_

 _I know you will be proud of me when you read this. It has finally happened. The General has called me up to join the special ladys battalion. Mr. Wickham says that I must keep my departure and destination a secret still, but you know how anxious I have been to do my part to protect the Kingdom, just like Lizzy. So I could not leave without letting you know I am safe and on my way to greater things._

 _Your daughter,  
Lydia  
(soon to be of the 1st Ladys) _

"That scoundrel!" Darcy expostulated. "We must begin the search at once!"

"What! Where is my baby?" Mrs. Bennet began to cry.

"Jane, Take your mother upstairs." Mr. Bennet ordered. "Mary, Kitty wait for me in my sanctum. I'll need to know what you know of Lydia's dealings with Lieutenant Wickham."

"Mr. Darcy, they have been gone for almost a full day," Mr. Bennet remonstrated. "They could easily be in London by now. It will be almost impossible to find them without special assistance. I need you to bring Lizzy here. She is our best chance to track the blackguard. Let me send a note with you so she knows what is needed. We have no time to waste. Charles, I need you to take another note to Sir John. We will need his help, but if at all possible, for the sake of our family's reputation, we need to keep word of this debacle from spreading further."

Both the younger men nodded. Upon receiving the note for Elizabeth, Darcy began his return flight with all possible speed.


	42. Chapter 42

Elizabeth watched as her fiancé flew away into the western sky. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, feeling a sudden chill that was more premonition than reaction to the cool morning air. Fate had worked so hard to keep them apart, using Lieutenant Wickham as its tool. The scoundrel had managed to influence them with his half-truths and honeyed words even though they were both warned against his lies. She cursed him silently.

"Lizzy," Charlotte prompted. "Shall we return to the house? I would like to hear more of this story. I would know how this Wickham caused such mischief."

"Is this something Father should know, as Mr. Wickham is still in Meryton?" Miss Lucas inquired breathlessly. Elizabeth thought the knight's daughter had never expected such adventures when the young lady had set off to visit her elder sister. "Mayhap he could spread the word to protect others from this … scoundrel?"

Thinking of her own younger sisters and the other young ladies of the country, Elizabeth agreed that was a worthwhile effort. "I'll prepare a letter for both your father and mine."

"I believe I should make my way to Rosings Park to inform Lady Catherine of these events. She may be upset." Mr. Collins spoke to his wife, looking for her endorsement of his intentions.

"A capitol idea," Colonel Fitzwilliam beamed. "I shall accompany you to see her reaction. Will you stay or go, Georgiana?"

"You are welcome to stay with us, if you wish to hear more of these events surrounding your brother," Elizabeth assured the younger lady.

"I would relish the opportunity to get to know you as well." Georgiana answered with a blush and a nod.

While writing her warnings to her father and Sir William, Elizabeth shared her tale of the subtle insinuations and prevarications of the Lieutenant with the other ladies. Her telling had not progressed too far when it was announced that Lady Catherine had arrived, along with Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson.

"Miss Bennet, will you take a walk with me?" asked Lady Catherine after she had endured the polite greetings of Charlotte and Georgiana. Elizabeth was concerned about her potential disapproval but knew there was no use in putting the necessary conversation off.

"Please, the garden is lovely this time of day." She offered the older woman her arm as they left the parsonage. Elizabeth waited on Lady Catherine to begin. As they walked in silence the older woman would occasionally glance, or glare, and Elizabeth, her mouth working, or her lips pursed.

Eventually, a calm settled over Lady Catherine's countenance and she asked, "Do you love him?"

"More than anything or anyone." Elizabeth replied honestly. The venerable lady made no response. They continued to walk for several moments.

With a nod, Lady Catherine seemed to come to some conclusion. But her next question made Elizabeth wonder at the nature of that conclusion. "I have heard that you are a skilled somatic manipulator."

"I have some talent in that direction."

"My daughter, as you well know, has long suffered from her gift. If nothing is done, no relief is found in the none-to-distant future, she will likely perish from these difficulties. Can you help her?"

"I do not know but I will try what I can."

"Thank you." Lady Catherine patted her arm as they continued their stroll, the mother sharing what she could of her daughter's condition. Anne had been born with fangs similar to a viper's. Some physicians had hypothesized that her body was not fully proof against her own venom and that she was slowly, but inexorably, poisoning herself.

Elizabeth and Miss de Bourgh had removed themselves to the heiress' chamber.

"I appreciate your willingness to help me, Miss Bennet. But I do not believe you will be able to alleviate my constant distress. Many have tried, at my mother's urgings. But all have failed. My only solace is that my suffering will not last much longer." Miss de Bourgh's tone revealed a depth of despair that Elizabeth found most pitiable.

"But I have your permission to try?"

"Of course."

Elizabeth laid her hands on her hostess' cheeks. She could feel the fangs and the venom sacks, and could tell there was a constant low- level leakage from the fangs into the young lady's digestive tract. The doctors were right. She found the toxins had thrown her humors completely out of balance. Using what she had learned of gift manipulation from her examination of the ExtraOrdinaries, she felt it might be possible to permanently alter Miss de Bourgh's gift to be less damaging to herself, or failing that, to remove it completely.

She explained the possibilities to her patient. "If I try this, it is possible that the only permanent change I can make with rob you of your gift completely."

The young woman looked at Elizabeth with a palpable mixture of hope and misery. "My gift is nothing of the sort. I would gladly give it up if it would stop the pain. Please, Miss Bennet, do what you can. Even if all that you can do is give me the mercy of a gentle death."

So, the lady from Hertfordshire once again laid her hands on her wretched patient and reached out with her senses to touch the small crux of her gift radiating energy to her mouth and jaw. As she examined this root, she gained confidence that she could sever the connection, just as she had with the prisoners she had experimented upon. What she wanted to do, instead, was to forge new pathways for the energy to reinforce the stomach and the rest of her body, giving her immunity from her own poisons. Eventually she reached a point where she felt she could go no further safely.

"How do you feel?" Elizabeth asked.

"Different. But I still have my fangs."

"We will see how you progress for the next few days. If necessary, I can make more adjustments in the future."

"Regardless of the outcome," Miss de Bourgh took Elizabeth hand in hers. "I thank you for your efforts." Lady Catherine also offered her gratitude, though more reservedly, as Elizabeth left the room.

That evening, as the full party, save Mr. Darcy, gathered for dinner at Rosings, their missing member rushed into the room.

"Elizabeth, Richard, there is an emergency. We must leave at once." Mr. Darcy insisted upon his entry. His wild, windswept appearance added urgency to his words.

When the three gentlefolk arrived at Longbourn, they found there had been another development. "This letter was delivered not long after you left, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth's father held out a folded piece of paper. On the outside she spotted a wax seal with an impression. Elizabeth took the paper and opened it.

 _To Mr. Bennet –_

 _As you may suspect, I have your daughter Lydia. The only way you may ever see her alive again is to convince your daughter Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy of Pemberley to attempt to rescue her. I will send you a location near London tomorrow at noon. Darcy and your daughter will have until midnight tomorrow to attempt to save your youngest._

 _They may bring as many friends as they like, so gather your forces. You should not expect to see any of them alive again. This is a certainty if they bring reinforcements from the Army or the Alien Office. They are of course free to endanger any other family and friends they wish to involve._

 _Will you risk one daughter to save another? Will Mr. Darcy risk his life for a girl wholly unconnected to him, or through inaction allow her to perish? Will you call on others to endanger their own lives? That is your punishment, and theirs, for your interference in my plans._

 _M. LaFontaine_

Elizabeth handed it to Darcy. He looked at it, and at the seal. "This is the same seal as on the ring I took from the French assailant in Derbyshire last month."

"Wickham is in league with the Frenchman?" her father surmised.

"So it would appear," Elizabeth agreed. "What can we do to prepare?"

Both Darcy and her father looked at her as if preparing to object. She looked back at them calmly. "You know I _will_ do this. Now, how can we make certain we get her back?"

"He is expecting more than the two of you," her father said. "That means you will have to seek help."

Late the next evening Elizabeth, Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charles, Sir William, and Sir John were gathered on the north bank of the Thames, well east of London. They were just outside of a small town called Purfleet, which was home to the Royal Gunpowder Magazine.

"There are five magazines that can hold up to ten thousand barrels of powder each." Colonel Fitzwilliam pointed to a map of the compound. "Tell us what you found." Darcy had used his gravity gift to harness the ambient star shine and moonlight and concentrate it to create a gentle luminance. Elizabeth was constantly astonished at the skill with which he wielded his gift.

"From the air I could see the heat from four large groups … here, here, here, and here." Elizabeth pointed to the first building, two areas near the outer wall of the compound, and an area near the back gate. "I cannot tell which, if any of them, might be the garrison. Nor can I give any details on the numbers in each location, though the first is the largest of the four."

"And there is a flyer patrolling the skies above the base." Darcy added.

"LaFontaine's note said that Miss Lydia is in the middle powder shed." Sir John pointed on the map. "But she cannot be our only objective. This magazine is the primary supply depot for both the Army and the Navy. The powder here is a strategic priority."

"Not to mention that if it should blow, it might take most of this part of the country with it." Colonel Fitzwilliam added. "This is obviously a trap."

They discussed potential tactics, and if Colonel Fitzwilliam was surprised that the other men treated Elizabeth as an intellectual equal, he made no overt display of his doubts. As the appointed time neared Darcy said, "We have to go with this plan, there is not time to formulate another. We will just have to keep enough flexibility of mind to adjust to new threats as they arise. Are we ready?"

"We are."


	43. Chapter 43

Lydia Bennet was disgusted, both at her situation and with her own actions and decisions that had led to that current status as a bound prisoner and bait for a trap. She had, she realized, allowed herself to be deceived by Mr. Wickham. Her desire to emulate Lizzy and her excitement at the novelty and enjoyment of her training had led her to believe the man's fabrication. Both her father and her sisters had warned her against trusting the blackguard, but he had appealed to her vanity and sense of adventure. And now her whole family, and possibly many more, were to pay the price for her foolishness.

"I have done my part, Monsieur," Wickham said. "I have delivered the girl, but this has painted a target on my back that will make it impossible for me to continue in my former role. I am now useless to you. If you will provide me with the new identity and remuneration you promised, I will make my way to someplace far from this war-torn continent."

"Not quite yet, _mon ami_. I think there may yet be a use for you," said the stranger with the French accent. Lydia was not certain but suspected this was the Frenchman that Lizzy and her father had spoken of on occasion, the one responsible for the attacks in Meryton. That Wickham was colluding with him was obvious, which meant that her supposed friend was a traitor and likely had been for some time.

"But you'd assured me, this was the end of it for me," the Lieutenant whined.

"And so it can be, though perhaps not in the way you had envisioned." The threat was obvious. "But it need not be, if you choose correctly. You may stay and lend your military prowess to our ambush or you may relocate to our vessel, awaiting our return and our voyage to France. Which of these _three_ choices appeals to you the most?"

It took Lydia a moment to realize the Wickham's third choice was to take his chances fighting the rebels. She could not see Wickham's face from where she was chained to the chair, her feet dangling just off the floor, depriving her of the leverage necessary for her to bring her full strength to bear. This, and the elephantine hybrid standing with a heavy hand on her shoulder, were the only things preventing her from managing her own escape. She heard her erstwhile friend sputter half-formed objections, then swallow audibly and muttered his unenthusiastic acquiescence. "The ship, please."

"Very well. MacDill, if you would." A second man, adorned in a bright red driving-coat, gestured. A portal opened before him, on the other side of which was the gently rolling deck of a docked ship. Wickham hesitated, but eventually stepped through. The portal closed behind him.

"Now you, my dear, have only to wait patiently for your sister and her friends to show up to rescue you," the Frenchman gestured to the barrels that surrounded them. "I need not even bring my own provisions for the trap, as your government has supplied sufficient for my needs, and more."

She struggled vainly to break her bindings, or at least to knock her chair to the ground, only to be stilled by the greater strength of her elephantine guard. "You won't get away with this. You've no idea who you're facing."

" _Au contraire, ma petite_. I know exactly what and whom I am facing. And this time it is they that shall meet a most ignominious defeat. As you shall see in just a few moments, if they arrive on time. It is almost midnight."

Lydia felt rather than saw another portal open behind her. She heard her captors step back, their footsteps moving from the wooden floor of the magazine to what sounded like gravel. She felt the hybrid's massive hand leave her shoulder, followed by more ponderous footfalls. Almost immediately, Lydia began to struggle against her bonds.

"Stop that!" the Frenchman commanded. Lydia continued. She felt part of the chair break away, causing the chains to loosen. "Morton, stop …"

Before he could complete his directive, the door to the magazine slammed open. Lydia saw Lizzy and Mr. Darcy enter cautiously.

"Lydia!" Lizzy proclaimed.

"Go back! It's a trap," the younger girl cried out trying to save her elder sister.

"They know that, and yet they came," the Frenchman said, his voice sounding strangely distant. "And that will be their undoing!"

A black metal ball, with a sputtering fuse landed on the wooden floor at Lydia's feet. She recognized it as a grenade. Fear and anger surged through Lydia, more than doubling her strength, she was able to shatter the links binding her. Just then Mr. Bingley appeared as if by magic. He grabbed her around the waist and she found herself pulled from her feet and from the magazine, faster than the eye could follow. It was exhilarating. Maybe she could see why Jane was so fond of the fellow.

# # # # #

"No!" LaFontaine bellowed as his bait was removed from the trap. How had the speedster appeared within the magazine? He had not entered with Darcy and the elder Bennet. Somehow the blasted crown magistrate had used his gravity gift to bend light to hide him. He was disgusted, both with the man for constantly foiling his plots, and at himself for consistently underestimating the Derbyshireman. There was no logical explanation for Darcy's continuing triumphs over greater numbers and powers. He could not agree with Grimes that if LaFontaine had simply ignored the insult to his pride the man's feats represented, he would no longer be a factor in the Frenchman's ongoing endeavors. He was beginning to think the hated man represented some sort of divine interference, sent by a higher power to be his specific nemesis.

Looking down, LaFontaine saw there was only a second before the bomb would explode, setting off the entire magazine. "Close the portal!" he cried.

Darcy gestured with one hand and a sphere of distortion appeared above the grenade, sucking it in and somehow interfering with the portal.

"I can't close it!" MacDill screeched. With a second gesture Darcy caused the gravity around LaFontaine and his henchmen to suddenly pull sideways, into the portal. He and MacDill managed to grab onto the iron stanchions and chain that separated the gravel path they were on from the grassy lawn of the hilltop. This kept them from falling back into the magazine. The elephantine Morton was not so lucky. He tumbled through the portal, apparently slamming into Elizabeth Bennet as she raced towards them. "I'm trying, but I can't close it!" MacDill repeated.

LaFontaine watched as the young lady managed to shove the massive Morton to one side, slamming him into one of the thick wooden posts supporting the loft. She must have used her gift to render him unconscious when she touched him, as he collapsed after bouncing off the post. She continued towards the portal.

Quickly the Frenchman reached out and touched MacDill's hand. He sent a pulse of his own somatic energy that momentarily disrupted the man's temporary gift. Without that gift to create the rift in space, not even Darcy's gravitic ability could hold it in place. The portal vanished, trapping his targets on the other side.

" _Merde_!" LaFontaine cursed as gravity righted itself and he fell to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and raced towards one of the signal rockets he had prepared, just in case something happened to MacDill. He tried to always have contingencies prepared. This was a multilayered trap. One which that demon Darcy had no chance of completely avoiding. Grabbing a slow match, he lit the fuse and stepped back as the rocket launched into the night sky. It exploded with a bright orange flare.

"You cannot beat me!" he shouted as the mortars he had carefully prepositioned, targeting the roof of the magazine in which Darcy and his she-wolf were currently trapped, began to fire.

# # # # #

"No!" Elizabeth cried as the portal to the hilltop where the Frenchman had retreated closed mere inches in front of her. She turned to Darcy and said, "We can't let him escape."

"He won't," Darcy assured her. He heard the burst of a rocket high above them, the sound muted by the thick stone of the magazine. "What was that?" he inquired, then realized his beloved was no more likely to know than he.

They started towards the door. Before they reached it, more sounds could be heard, muffled thumps followed by high-pitched whistles. He heard Richard cry "Mortars!"

He pushed past Elizabeth, moving quickly through the door. Once outside he immediately threw a gravitic barrier above the building. He had no idea where the shells might be falling, but if they were aimed at them, he would protect Elizabeth at all costs. Loud explosions rocked the sky where two shells impacted the shield.

"Attack left! I've got the right!" called Sir John. Darcy could see Richard and Sir William moving towards the western wall of the compound. A moment later he saw Miss Lydia and Bingley entering the storehouse where Elizabeth had said there was a large concentration of men. He assumed they had located the garrison and were working to free them.

"You have to hold the shield, my love. You're the only one who can. If those mortars hit, they could blow the whole magazine. The others can handle the mortar teams. I'll find LaFontaine," Elizabeth said as she raced past, her wings deploying from her back. Darcy almost stopped her, but he knew she was both proud and, more crucially, competent.

Even more importantly, she was correct in her reasoning. He had to protect the five buildings. Their loss would not only be a strategic blow to the nation's war efforts, it would also mean the deaths of Elizabeth and so many of their loved ones. He rose into the air to get a better view and extended his protection over all of the powder storehouses.

He spotted the two mortar teams hunkered in trenches that had been covered moments before. Richard and the Mayor hit the western trench hard. There were at least six men in each trench, three of whom were servicing the six-inch pieces and three were prepared to repel attackers.

Richard was able to avoid the first volley from the defenders, while Sir William was able to knock the mortar off target as it fired the next round. The shell rose high into the air and plummeted back down, striking Darcy's shield, though it would have missed the targeted building. In the distance Darcy saw Sir John assaulting the other mortar team. The Colonel used his ice gift to freeze the combatants, stopping them before they could fire again.

At that point a second rocket burst in the air, bathing the battle field in green light.

# # # # #

Elizabeth was making wide sweeps, trying to find any trace of the dastardly Frenchman responsible for so many of her family's recent travails. Suddenly the sound of movement above her warned of an imminent attack. She tried to dodge out of the way, but the flying man caught her with the sharp edge of his metallic wings.

The razor like feathers sliced across her left side. The contact was insufficient for her to use her gift to control his body. She was not certain if it was because of the brevity of the contact, or if the wings were somehow proof against her touch. She wheeled to gain space between them, but he was faster than her in the air and came back for a second run, scoring another slash on her right leg.

"Pretty bird bleeds," the winged man cawed, his voice distorted by his beak-like mouth. "Shouldna come in the air. The air is Razorwing's!"

He rolled onto his back and dived into an aerial loop. Elizabeth dropped one wing to tumble out of the way of his next attack. He still managed to tear at her with a clawed foot. At the contact, she felt a connection to his inner being, but that connection was broken before she could act. They jockeyed for position, each trying to gain advantage over the other.

Elizabeth began to realize that the winged man was her superior in the air, both faster and more maneuverable. But she was the more experienced flier and used that hard-earned expertise to both avoid the majority his attacks and to attempt to entrap him. She sustained several superficial wounds from his sharpened pinions whilst discovering that his wings were insufficiently organic for her gift to effect. She needed to touch him on his body, long enough for her to affect his humors.

A rocket flew between the two combatants. It detonated a hundred yards from them, sending green sparks to illuminate the night sky. The thunderous boom of the explosion buffeted both fliers, flinging them away from each other.

As she tumbled through the sky, Elizabeth caught sight of two groups of figures emerging from hiding places near the wall of the enclosure, moving to swarm over her friends on the ground. Two of the new figures were flying towards Darcy as he hung in the air, maintaining the protections on the magazines. She also saw the rocket's contrail leading back to LaFontaine on the top of the nearby hill.


	44. Chapter 44

Lydia and Charles freed the last of the bound soldiers who had been pressed into the first magazine. There were thirty or more of them, all in uniform, but without their weapons or effects. Each was simultaneously attempting tell his own tale of how they had been captured by a group of gifted assailants, creating such a clamor that Lydia could not form any coherent understanding of what they were trying to say. Overhead, they could hear the sounds of conflict punctuated by occasional explosions.

"Everybody be QUIET!" she raised her voice at the last to be heard over the cacophony. "We have to get your away from the powder. It could go off at any moment. Follow Mr. Bingley out the door ONE AT A TIME!"

To her utter astonishment, the men listened and obeyed. Charles moved, and the others followed. Lydia hefted one young man who seemed incapable of walking on his own over her shoulder. She winced at his moan of pain but carried him out behind the rest of his comrades. She was thrilled at this small success. She felt like she was making a real difference, rather than just being Jane and Lizzy's troublesome tagalong little sister.

A green light flared in the night sky just as the soldiers reached the wall of the encampment. Only forty or so yards away, Lydia saw a dozen men and women, some armed and some with obvious gifts pour out of a covered trench. They were running towards Sir John, who seemed to be fighting another half dozen or so armed men. Two took off into the air. She saw them moving towards Darcy but could not immediately think of a way to reach them.

She looked to Charles, who seemed to be hesitating, looking between the soldiers they were saving, his friend in the air, and the newly uncovered enemies. She shoved the man she was carrying into the arms of the nearest soldiers. She saw her brother-in-law standing, seemingly overwhelmed, mired in indecision. She was almost astounded that she was able to maintain her own presence of mind. She barked an order to Charles. "Find weapons and arm these men. They'll be more help in the fight with muskets!" Then she ran towards the enemy approaching Sir John.

Several of the attackers turned towards her. They must have heard her ordering Charles. They started firing at her. Suddenly, time seemed to slow down, just like it had when she was practicing with Wickham on Oakham Mount. She was able to step or spin around the incoming balls, ducking and dodging, taking advantage of carts and walls for cover. She grabbed an empty wagon, probably used for hauling barrels and supplies, and hurled it at the assailants who had stopped to engage her.

Her aim was true, and the cart bowled over four of the gunmen. "Yes!" she expostulated, then continued into the fray.

# # # # #

Darcy watched as the battle expanded below. He saw the familiar giantess, growing to her fifteen-foot height, along with a man carrying several swords and pistols, a dusky woman shrouded in mist, and two flyers, a man and a woman. The flyers proceeded in his direction. Darcy had extended his gravitic shield to create a dome that encapsulated the five magazines. Unfortunately, this was taking the preponderance of his capability and concentration, leaving only enough for him to maneuver to avoid the anticipated attacks from the aerial duo.

The woman seemed to be crouched low on a glowing golden platform that she propelled through the air. The man rode at the head of a dazzling trail. Both were attacking with energy burst which Darcy managed to slip between. He could not counterattack without removing the dome and there were too many ways the magazines could be detonated without his shield.

Below he spotted the forces clashing. Richard was engaged with the well-armed man, both were moving faster than humanly possible. The man drew and fired two pistols. Richard managed to avoid both shots, procuring a loaded musket for himself from one of the villains Miss Lydia had bowled over. His adversary avoided Richard's return fire with a spinning leap that ended with a blade in both his hands. Richard fenced with him, bayonet against saber. Scarlet blossomed on both men's raiment. They traded powerful blows that reverberated across the battlefield.

Just as loud were the clouts exchanged between Sir William and the giantess. They battered at each other with fists, the knight's even larger than the behemoth's. Each blow rocked the earth around them. Darcy saw the woman was stronger, but the Mayor was more experienced and use his greater reach and momentum to his advantage. The Derbyshireman was certain that Sir William would eventually prevail

Sir John was engaged with a battle of shifting environments with the Indian woman. She would eject plumes of noxious vapors or spew jets of acidic fluids, which he would freeze solid, or cause to condense into a dirty snow. She was able to take a gaseous form to avoid his spears of ice and other attacks. But each time she flowed around a strike her form became less viscous.

Miss Lydia and Bingley were assisting the soldiers in their assault the mortar teams and enemy gunmen. Bingley raced around the musket-men, slicing through their belts holding their ammunition pouches and powder horns. Whilst Miss Lydia took a more direct route, moving into close quarters with the non-gifted assailants. Darcy though that with training she might prove equal to Richard. She used her extraordinary strength and speed to batter her opponents into unconsciousness.

Darcy was drawn back into this airborne game of evasion as the two assailants attempted to box him in. The man projected bursts of flaming energy that speared towards him. The woman created giant golden hands that attempted to either grapple him or swat him from the sky. He manipulated the force and direction of the Earth's pull on his own body, causing him to flit about the sky. From what he had glimpsed on the ground, he determined that if he could only avoid his attackers and maintain his protections on the gunpowder, the others would soon be able to assist him.

# # # # #

"No, No! NO!" LaFontaine shouted. He watched as his carefully planned, three-layered trap fell apart under the assault of a vastly outnumbered enemy. "How can he do this? How! He is the devil himself!" He pounded his fist on the trunk of a nearby tree.

"We should take our leave while we still can. Make our way to the ship," MacDill suggested.

"No! We can yet turn the tide. I will not let him beat me. I will prevail! Take us there."

"But …"

"Now!" MacDill opened a portal to the wall behind where the bulk of the battle was underway. They both stepped through, LaFontaine in the lead. He stood for a moment, taking account of all the combatants, especially marking the six English gifted. It had taken him years of practice to be able to utilize his somatic manipulation gift to instill temporary powers, and during that time he discovered a number of ways he could impact the gifts of others. He reached out and felt the energy of the gift flowing through the nearest enemy, the one-armed colonel. He felt it pulsing in the man's body. And, with a simple twist of his own power, LaFontaine suppressed the man's gift.

The effect was immediate. As the colonel tried to block Rao's acid attack, the cold barrier refused to manifest, allowing the corrosive jet to score on the soldier. The Frenchman relished the man's agonized scream as his flesh began to dissolve. Tuning to the other colonel, LaFontaine again reached out to cancel his gift. It was less effective on purely physical enhancements like this man's. But he did slow noticeably. This allowed Greene to score several hits, leaving the soldier bleeding with his regeneration greatly reduced.

MacDill was also attacking, opening a micro-portal to the lava chamber of Mt. Vesuvius. This caused pressurized magma to spew forth, burning the soldiers organizing to fire at the Frenchman's forces. Their former hostage barely managed to push two men out of the way of the jet. Several of the men turned to fire at them. MacDill opened a portal to the space above the soldiers, causing the fire at themselves.

"No!" the dastardly Derbyshireman cried out. LaFontaine exulted at the despair in his enemy's voice. He turned towards the flying magistrate and reached out with his gift. Once he had disrupted the gravity shield, they could destroy the magazines.

Suddenly, MacDill lurched back, blood spraying from a massive musket wound in his shoulder. This distracted LaFontaine enough that he lost his connection to Darcy. Turning he saw that it was the horrid Bennet chit with the smoking musket in her hand. She dropped it and reached down for another. He gestured, and her gift was suppressed.

She staggered for a moment, then raised the musket to her shoulder. "Mary was right. I don't need my gift to stop you." She fired. He dodged, but the ball still cut a crease along his ribs. He concentrated, and the wound healed almost instantly. He raced towards her. If he could touch her, he could inflict tremendous damage on her.

"Leave her be. You will not hurt another of my sisters, LaFontaine." Elizabeth Bennet landed in front of him.

"You think you can stop me? I will tear apart everything you hold dear!" He reached to suppress her gift, only to find that once the channel was open, she could employ her own gift through it as well. With an inarticulate cry he launched himself into the battle.

# # # # #

Elizabeth saw Darcy was facing multiple aerial adversaries while he was locked into maintaining the shield. He managed to avoid most of their attacks, but inevitably, some succeeded in finding their target. Her fiancé was absorbing the damage, but she did not know how long even a man as powerful as he could endure such punishment. She needed to help him, but her winged foe was giving her no opportunity to render assistance. After repeated attempts to touch him long enough to use her abilities to render him unconscious and finding him too elusive, she decided on a different tactic. She carefully maneuvered such that, after another failed strike, she was left in a vulnerable position, just under his taloned feet. The self-styled RazorWing took the bait and grasped onto her shoulders, painfully digging his sharped claws into her delicate flesh.

This was connection enough and Elizabeth was able to use her gift to render her foe paralyzed. They plummeted towards the ground. Elizabeth saw LaFontaine and the red-coated man step through a portal onto the battlefield. She wrenched her attention back to the rapidly approaching ground and used her cat-like agility to reposition her attacker so that he was between her and the onrushing cobblestones. At the last possible moment, she leapt off the man, transferring some of her momentum, and flared her wings to slow her decent. Her landing was hard, but she was able to absorb the impact and redirect it into a roll.

As she regained her feet she saw Lydia shoot the red-coated man. This caught LaFontaine's attention and he rushed towards her sister. Elizabeth could not let that happen. She bounded towards the pair and landed to interpose herself between her youngest sibling and the man who was responsible for so much of her family's recent pains.

"Leave her be. You will not hurt another of my sisters, LaFontaine." Elizabeth stated, falling into a combat pose.

"You think you can stop me? I will tear apart everything you hold dear!" He waved at her and she could feel his somatic manipulation gift reach for the seat of her own gift. She instinctively knew what he was attempting. Their gifts were similar. She had channeled her efforts into healing and personal enhancement. He had specialized in the manipulation of the gifts of others, even at range. But their powers were effectively the same. This meant that the channel he opened to Elizabeth was also open for her to reach him, giving her range she would not otherwise have.

So she reached. When the Frenchman felt her enter his system, he screamed in rage and frustration. Their battle was fought at a level invisible to others. Each tried to gain control of the other's body. Elizabeth felt him reach for her heart. She blocked him and tried to cut his nerves at the spine, paralyzing him. He redirected her probe back to her own nerves. She felt her legs go numb, and had to spend a precious second healing the damage.

This moment of distraction allowed LaFontaine to attack her gift. As a true gifted, Elizabeth had no core to affect like the ExtraOrdinaries. Instead she could sense how he targeted the portion of her brain that controlled the essence of her gift that was distributed in every portion of her body. His attack was precisely targeted, and therefore slow. Realizing what he was doing, she struck first. She sent a brute force attack at the same portion of his brain. It was not subtle, but it was fast and, ultimately, effective.

Her assault burnt out the entire portion of his brain, eradicating thousands of nerves and leaving destruction equivalent to that of a severe apoplexy. LaFontaine grasped his head and fell to his knees wailing in anguish. Elizabeth followed with a spinning roundhouse kick that put him, temporarily at least, out of his misery.

"Lizzy!" Lydia cheered as she ran up and embraced her. "You got him!"

"There's still more left to do," Elizabeth said pointing the ongoing conflict.

"But what should we do?" Bingley appeared. The tension in his voice showed he was nearing a state of panic.

Elizabeth took a moment to gain a better sense of how the battle was progressing and where her allies were in greatest peril. Darcy and the two colonels seemed to be in the most desperate straits. The vaporous woman seemed to be the greatest threat, and one she was not likely to be able to subdue herself.

She turned to her new brother. "Can you cause some sort of wind or vortex to blow the Indian woman's cloud away from Sir John and the others? She needs to be contained until she can be defeated." To Lydia she said. "Direct the soldiers to focus their fire on her. Wait until she has reformed to a corporeal state, then fire. After she is down, direct their fire towards the flyers attacking Darcy."

"Right!" Bingley said and moved off, procuring a large board from the wreckage to use as a fan. Lydia just saluted and ran back towards the gathered Army men.

Elizabeth took one more look at the aerial battle and saw that Darcy was still holding his own. She instead raced silently towards the well-armed man slowly whittling away at Colonel Fitzwilliam, her claws extending. Just as the man kicked the Colonel into a stone wall, she slid under the insurgent's outstretched leg and sliced at his Achilles tendons. He sprang into the air, leaping over her attack. He riposted, stabbing for her heart, She slapped the side of the blade, moving it just far enough to cause him to miss and render him momentarily off balance. She spun, almost rolling along the extended blade, to grab his wrist. He responded with his dagger, stabbing for her back. She batted his blade away with her wing as she sent her senses into his body and caused his consciousness to shut down. He slumped to the ground.

"Well down, my lady," Colonel Fitzwilliam lauded as he stepped forward, saber at the ready. "How long will he be out?"

"Long enough." She replied. "Go take over the soldiers. Send Lydia to help Sir William. I'll help Darcy."

She launched herself into the air before he could reply. As she approached the airborne enemies, she once again cursed that she had so few ranged options. She almost returned to the ground to scrounge a musket or pistol. But she decided she had no time.

The woman riding the golden disc had just knocked Darcy into the path of one of the other assailant's energy blasts. Elizabeth shuddered at Darcy's cry of pain. She reached out and sent a pulse of nervous energy that caused the woman's left leg to spasm. This was as much as she could achieve at such a distance, but it was enough to cause the woman to lose her balance and slip from the disc.

Her receding wail attracted the attention of her comrade. This distraction was enough for Darcy to close and deliver a powerful clout to the man's head. He plummeted, unconscious, to the cobblestones below. The woman managed to create another disc which stopped her decent inches off the ground. But before she could rise to renew her attacks, Sir William's giant hand grabbed her and slammed her into the cobbles.

Slowly the firing subsided and the other sounds of battle stilled. Elizabeth could hear ragged breathing and moans of anguish, but a quick inspection found none of the insurgents remained conscious.

"Darcy, darling, we did it!" she shouted, not caring who heard.

"We did, my love." He flew to her and took her into his strong, comforting embrace. "Together _we_ did."


	45. Chapter 45

Thomas Bennet and William Wickham shared a fine brandy in a private room at the Superintendent's London club. The early summer sun shone through the high set windows, illuminating the bastion of masculine solidarity. Both men sat silently enjoying their libation as the discrete footman withdrew from the chamber. "I must tell you again how honored I was to be invited to the wedding," Wickham said. "If not for the aftermath of the LaFontaine matter, I would have certainly attended. How was it?"

"Much like any wedding, if one's daughter is not involved," Bennet replied. He sipped slowly as he let his mind wander back to the blessed event. "Darcy and Lizzy had wanted a simple ceremony, with a guest list limited to family and close friends. But between Mrs. Bennet and Lady Catherine, assisted by her overly energetic daughter, the event grew to almost preposterous proportions. At least we were spared the outlandish officiating of my Cousin Collins through the fortuitous appearance of a bishop from some remote branch of the Darcy genealogy."

"Perhaps it is just as well I did not make an appearance?"

"Perhaps. I am not too certain that my newest son is completely content with your continued consultation with his new bride. He might have had words with you."

"Then he is likely to be even less pleased when I offer her a permanent role in the Office. Hers is too precious a talent to waste in the wilds of Derbyshire."

"Do you think that wise?"

"Even worse, I wish to recruit Darcy as well. The Crown needs his service as something more than a mere magistrate."

Bennet contemplated his words for a moment. "That might just work. Individually they are formidable. Together they are nigh unstoppable. And _together_ is likely the only way they will agree to such a proposal. But I hope you will not think less of me if I wish for them to refuse. They deserve some real peace and happiness."

After several more minutes of companionable silence, Whiskey asked, "Do you think she can?"

Bennet looked at his old university friend. Though it had been many years since their adventures together, the Master of Longbourn still understood the man's skewed thinking as well as anyone. To him the cryptic query was plain. Lizzy had managed to permanently and completely remove LaFontaine's gift, a feat unparalleled in the annals of British history. The question on many knowledgeable minds was if it was an inimitable conflation of the situation, her own exceptional ability, and some element of synergy with LaFontaine's own unique gift; or if she could replicate the feat on her own.

Such a capability was world-shaking. If she were able to remove gifts, she could literally change the foundations of their society. "I don't know. To be honest, I hope not. It is too much responsibility for any person to bear. Too much power. Too much fear and enmity. I would certainly not wish it on my dear Lizzy."

Both men silently considered the even more frightening possibility. If Lizzy could take gifts away permanently, was it possible she could also instill them permanently where they never existed before? Could she make a null into a wilder? That was an even greater threat to the status quo and could set all the power of the Crown and the entire gifted society in deadly opposition to her. Bennet prayed that she would never seek to discover if this was within her means. Neither man would ask. It was too dangerous to know.

Given that dreadful possibility he refused to consider why she might have been spending so much time in company with Mary in the time between Purfleet and the wedding. He could only hope that it was merely an extended discussion of Ordinary politics and sharing of Lizzy's new contacts in London. He determined to have a cautionary talk with both of the girls. None of them could afford for Mary to begin displaying a gift, no matter the good intentions that might lie behind its hypothetical origin.

Thinking of his two politically active daughters brought his youngest to mind. Lizzy and he had decided that Lydia's vigor need a safer outlet. They worked together with her to prepare her to take over Lizzy's role as sheriff of Longbourn. He knew she would need more supervision than Lizzy had, but he was determined to grasp the opportunity to help shape her into a more sensible girl. He knew he needed to rectify his own behavior to ensure his younger daughters futures.

Thoughts of Lydia's folly sparked a question. "Has young Lieutenant Wickham ever been recovered?"

The elder Wickham made a moue of distaste at the mention of his scofflaw relation. "It seems the ship that LaFontaine had stowed him aboard set sail at the launching of the second flare. Our best intelligence is that the captain was a hireling rather than a fellow traveler. He must have seen the second flare as a signal that the battle was going against his patron and decided to cut bait."

"Or he was swayed by Lieutenant Wickham's silver tongue. I know from experience that the man's influence is insidious. Any idea where the ship went?"

"It was originally bound for Malta, officially. Though it is likely that it would have made at least one stop on the French coast somewhere, if not ended its voyage in France. As is, it seems to have sailed for Ireland. None of our agents have found when or where my young cousin debarked, but he was not on board when the Navy finally tracked the ship down."

"So, he is, as you say, in the wind?"

"Indeed."

"That's too bad. I would like to have words with that young man." The each contemplated what those words might be for a moment, before Bennet continued. "So LaFontaine is the only prisoner taken?"

"The only one of import," Whisky agreed. "We have Graves, and several of the XO's, but the only two English gifted involved in the conspiracy, Georgie boy and Cranmer, are gone."

"That is a shame. Have you managed to get anything useful out of the Frenchman?"

"Unfortunately, the damage your daughter did to his brain seems to have deprived him of most of his higher functions. Even my gift cannot compel any response from him. From his signet ring we feel we have traced his true provenance, from the Danton family. But beyond that ... nothing."

"Let me know if I can be of any help."

"Thank you. I may yet take you up on that offer."

After another lengthy silence Bennet turned the conversation to more pleasant topics. "Did you get Lord Spencer's invitation? Mr. Dibdin tells me that it has to do with old Roxburghe's library ..."

That evening Bennet made ready for his last dinner at Darcy House. He had come to Town on business, but had accepted Lizzy's invitation to stay in their townhouse, despite the fact that she and her newly-wed husband were preparing for their wedding trip to Scotland. He had brought Mary to London with him as she was to spend the summer with the Gardiners.

"One can only hope Lord Liverpool will survive Mary's presence." He said to himself. Then grimaced. It was barely a month since the assassination of the late Prime Minister, Mr. Percival. While his assassin, Bellingham, had no political motive; the mere fact that he was a merchant, a null, had caused increased political unrest in the capitol. But Mary had refused to let that curtail her designs, and surprisingly Lizzy and Mrs. Gardiner had agreed. Bennet felt his daughter was likely unprepared for the troubled waters Ordinary politics must be at present. But she would either thrive among the chaos, or she would return to Longbourn wiser for the experience. He determined he would maintain a regular correspondence with her to offer his support and advice.

He joined his daughters and Mr. Darcy at the table. The conversation, as always was thoughtful and wide ranging. With every exposure he was growing more fond of his son-in-law and more proud of his Lizzy. Eventually the discussion wended its way to his afternoon's assignation.

"I hope your time with Mr. Wickham was pleasant," Lizzy said. Bennet found it amusing that Darcy's face froze at the mention of the Superintendent. The taciturn man was not as good at hiding his feelings as he might think.

" _And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup! and surely I'll be mine! And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne._ Or something of the sort, in honor of your Scottish sojourn. We are old acquaintance that have not quite been forgot."

"And did your old acquaintance mention that he made an offer to Elizabeth to join his office in a full-time capacity?" Darcy was obviously not happy about the idea.

"He did. He mentioned that he felt that both of you, together, could be of great use to the nation." He stopped and sipped his wine. "Of course, I told him that you should both turn him down flat."

"Why, father?" Mary asked. He did not think she was disagreeing, so much as delving for his reasoning to better understand.

"I think it can be easily argued that these two have done enough, _given_ enough for King and Country. The have earned their peace and happiness."

"That's true. But the same could be said for many still serving," Mary countered.

Silence settled over the table as Lizzy and Darcy gazed deep into each other's eyes, carrying out an entire conversation without words. Bennet and Mary sat as spectators, acknowledging the importance of the turning point in the young couple's lives.

" _Great responsibility follows inseparably from great power,"_ Elizabeth quoted.

"Peace is a privilege that must be earned through the efforts of those that can fight for those that cannot," Darcy added.

With a great sigh, both nodded.

"Duty," Lizzy said.

"Duty," Darcy agreed.

"But not until after your honeymoon. Even paladins need a holiday." Bennet had known they would make that choice. Duty and responsibility were at the center of both their characters.

Soon enough Old Whiskey would be welcoming Britain's newest agents – Mr. & Mrs. Darcy.

The End

A/N: Thus ends our tale. There is obviously more that might be said. And I do have ideas for both prequels (Young Mr. Bennet's Adventures or "Why he has Blackbeard's cutlass?") and sequels (Mary's search for her brother or "The Island of the Grotesques" and the Further Adventures of Mr. & Mrs. Darcy or "In Service to the King"). But those are for later days, if at all.

Thank you for reading and enjoying this. At some point in the not too distant future I will be moving this to Amazon for wider distribution. I will warn you before it happens and offer you the book for free for a limited time so you might share your opinions on Amazon.


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